A Fairytale of Atlanta
by kinseynelson
Summary: India Wilkes's wedding sets the scene for Scarlett and Rhett's long overdue reunion...Will Scarlett finally have the chance to save her marriage-or will the fight cost her everything?
1. Hello, Mr Heartache

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p><em><strong>A Fairytale of Atlanta<strong>_

_**A Gone With the Wind Fanfic **_

_**By: Kinsey Nelson**_

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><p>Atlanta, Georgia, 1875<p>

The esteemed dowagers of the Atlanta Old Guard stood perched like old crows atop the platform as the bugle sounded the old familiar tune of 'Dixie', chins and chests outthrust as they surveyed the scene before them, ascertaining for themselves that all of the upstanding citizenry had turned out for the auspicious occasion, all the while setting aside the names of those who had not attended - the underlying implication for such people being their automatic social ruin for the rest of the Season, at least.

Mrs. Caroline Meade, the good Doctor's wife and head of the Committee, was standing front and center, directly behind the piccolos, and wiping her misty eyes with her husband's handkerchief, at each note reminded of the two boys she had sent off to war, never to be seen again. Mrs. Dolly Meriwether sat perfectly erect to her left, her fingers curled around the crook of her cane, eyes sharply surveying the figures in the crowd. Yes, the Old Guard had turned out in force for the memorial service in honor of the Glorious Dead. It had been, in Mrs. Meriwether's not so humble opinion, a success of the highest order. That was, until she saw _her_ standing there.

Her brows were creased in concentration as she read the program of the day, her shoulders slightly hunched over, yet still stubbornly clinging to her mourning black as though she were mourning a sister. Balderdash, Mrs. Meriwether thought to herself, as if Scarlett Butler _ever _truly mourned for poor Melanie Wilkes! It had to be, Mrs. Meriwether deduced, a further ploy to entrap Melly's unfortunate husband, Ashley, into some sort of illicit relationship, the sort of which Scarlett was rumored to be well versed in since her husband had taken permanent leave from Atlanta.

Yes, Scarlett had to be doing just that. But why the plain black gown? With none of the fancy adornments, no plunging décolletage, not even rouge! She looked downright sickly, not like a grand seductress. Again, Mrs. Meriwether deduced, Scarlett is nothing if not a consummate actress—no, she didn't fool the matron for a moment…

Her thought process was interrupted by none other than Scarlett herself, who had caught her staring and returned her polite glance with an icy fix of her emerald eyes. Mrs. Meriwether hurriedly broke the gaze and looked instead at the wooden panels of the stage floor, only peeking at Scarlett ever so often for the duration of the service. But Scarlett, for her part, seemed not to notice. Impatiently she looked first left and then right, as though she expected to see someone making his or her way through the crowd of people, seemingly oblivious to the occasional whispers of the ladies who were seated behind her. For shame, Mrs. Meriwether thought, they are more interested in Scarlett than in honoring our Glorious Dead…

Scarlett was not oblivious, of course. Infamous and in disgrace, the bane of the Atlanta Old Guard's existence, Scarlett suspected that she was the topic of conversation underneath the veneer of mourning for the lads in grey. After all, it had been ten years since the war ended-folks' memories surely didn't last _that_long. For herself, she barely remembered the wartime years, save for that they had brought with them the agony of famine and poverty, things that she no longer needed to fret over and she didn't trouble herself overmuch in dwelling upon. No, Scarlett had much more important things on which to rest her attention-getting her husband back, for one. Which was why she was at the blasted memorial in the first place! If someone within a country mile so much as mentioned the name of Rhett Butler, Scarlett knew about it—that is—she made it her business to know. That, and she knew that Melly would have been there, had she been alive, wiping her misty eyes along with Mrs. Meade, crying over her brother Charlie and all her friends that had gone to ground, and anything else that needed tears. I'm done with tears, Scarlett thought, vexed that she had taken the trouble to waste her afternoon at a dull memorial for naught.

Of course Rhett wouldn't be there! She had been a fool to think that he'd actually turn up. For the second time, she noted Mrs. Meriwether's intense stare linger on her overlong.

"Hateful old buffalo," Scarlett murmured under her breath as she gazed beyond the stage platform, as though willing it to crash under the combined weight of the band and the matrons. She watched as one of Mrs. Meriwether's thin grey eyebrows lifted in disapproving scorn, and got a perverse sense of pleasure from the knowledge that her lips had been read. Returning the look with a smirk of her own, Scarlett gave her a mocking smile, then wiped her eyes exaggeratedly with Rhett's handkerchief as the band finished its last godforsaken tune to close out the event.

"That was torture, was it not?" a voice came from near Scarlett's ear. She turned her head quickly, thinking for a brief moment that perhaps it was Rhett, that he had decided to show up after all…Disappointment filled her as she met Ashley's stone gray eyes, filled with concern and bemusement as he looked back at her.

"Well, what do you say, my dear?"

Her eyes widened as he leaned forward, clearly having imbibed more than his fair share of alcohol-and it was not noon yet.

"Ashley Wilkes, what are you doing?" she frowned and put one arm out to support him, should he attempt to stand up.

"Watching you," he murmured. "You are, my dear, lovelier than ever."

"Stop it, Ashley," she hissed into his ear. "Not here, not now."

"Why ever not?"

"Because I'm one thin hair from burning in hellfire for all eternity in their eyes, and well you know it! And while you're likely not bothered by that so much, I am. I'm trying—" She looked at him squarely in the face. "—to to the very best that I can. Do you understand?"

Ashley Wilkes stared into the face of the woman who had loved him for over a decade.

"I do, Scarlett. Would you allow me to walk you home, at least?"

She sighed heavily. "Very well. I suppose that there is nothing else to see here. All the graves have been beautified and all the rot said, it seems. What do you think that they'll say when they see us leaving together?"

He shrugged. "It troubles me very little, to be perfectly honest with you."

"I do my very best not to hear them…I try to shut them out—it never works particularly well though."

He chuckled wryly. "I would imagine that your hearing is as sharp as the diamond facets on that ring you still wear, my dear."

She looked down at her ring finger, fairly covered by the sizable ring of diamonds and emeralds.

"He's my husband, Ashley. I'll wear it until its otherwise."

Ashley frowned as he took her arm and began to walk down the street. "For the last two years, his objective in life seems to have been to make you suffer...and suffer you have. You've burned through more money than I care to imagine saving me from ruin at the mills, though I can't imagine why you did it—"

She rolled her eyes as he went on.

"And then he consistently finds ways to get his name blasted throughout the newspapers and further scandalizes you by cavorting with harlots...at this point, Scarlett, I think its fair to say that his reputation exceeds even your own."

Scarlett looked at him darkly as they walked, her arm linked with his.

"Well, I don't care. I told you that he's coming back to keep the gossip down. He reassured me of that, before he left, he did, Ashley."

"Right. He's come back how many times, since that date?"

"None. I realize the inevitability of my situation, Ashley. And I know what they're saying about me and I don't care. I must try to make it right though...if only for Wade and Ella—I must…"

His eyes narrowed. "He should have never said what he said about you being an unfit mother. He is a cruel, selfish bastard and if I knew where to find him I'd—"

"What, shoot him?" she said with a raised eyebrow in perfect imitation of Mrs. Meriwether.

Ashley sighed. "I suppose that wouldn't be particularly helpful to you, my dear, but I would like to speak to him. You know, gentleman to gentleman."

"Ha!" Scarlett laughed. "You're being generous with the word _gentleman_, Ashley."

"That I am aware of. Oh yes, I am well aware of that fact…but that doesn't put aside the point that you're hurting, my dear. You're exhausted and you're—"

"What? Heartbroken over Rhett leaving? Fiddle-dee-dee, Ashley, I'm alright. After all," she smiled coquettishly, reminding him that the belle that he knew and loved was lurking deep down under her placid exterior, "I have enough money to tell everyone to go to the devil…and I have you."

She said the last part with heavy sarcasm, which Ashley did not catch. Instead, he moved up behind her, and placed a compassionate hand on her shoulder. "You do have me, Scarlett. God help me, I would be lying if I said that I did not want you still—after all this time…but I do know that your heart lingers with Rhett, no matter how...unworthy...a cad he has proven himself to be—"

She shrugged his hand away and laughed hollowly as the heat rushed to her face.

"Obviously he wasn't nearly so serious in his supposed love for me, or he simply wouldn't have vanished like this. And he simply doesn't care enough to come home—at least not to me. Had I only not been so blind for so long, Ashley-"

"What difference does it make, Scarlett, if he does not love you, as you have just said?"

Her eyes briefly closed. The stiff taffeta of her gown was clinging to her skin and she felt nauseous as the sun beat down its rays.

Rhett's image rose before her mind's eye-his swarthy face with coal black eyes, his hair, black as a raven's wing...the kindred spirit that had rescued her time and time again. Rhett, not love her? That was the problem: she knew that he did. Or at the very least—he _had_.

"But I'm in love with him, Ashley. For the first time in my life, I know what it is to be in love, deeply. And it will no more leave me than my love for-I don't know-Tara, perhaps? Despite everything, I still love him. No matter how mad he makes me...despite him leaving when Melly died."

Ashley's jaw hardened at the mention of that name.

"I know what you mean, Scarlett."

She took his hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "I know you do, Ashley. I know."

He chuckled dryly. "I suppose that we'll have to content ourselves with one another's company, in the meantime. I for one cannot endure sitting next to Pittypat after I walk India down the aisle…"

Scarlett laughed, genuinely this time. "I can't believe she's getting married. It's a wonder that she's found a man—any man—let alone a fully functional, moderately handsome Southerner."

Ashley grimaced. "Poor fellow."

"Well, I certainly can't attend without an invitation, Ashley. I may be unconventional, but I've not sank that low—not yet, anyway."

Ashley smiled, "Well you certainly are invited to be my escort. Lord knows they can't create any new rumors. Why just yesterday I heard a charming one about our rendezvous inside of Mrs. Watling's establishment…"

Scarlett feigned horror. "Except that you chose with me over one of those women because I'll serve the same purpose for no charge, was that the gist of it?"

Ashley laughed appreciatively, but was cut off in his reply by the sound of a man loudly clearing his throat from behind them.

Scarlett and Ashley turned around in unison and were greeted by a slight bow that was more mocking than courteous.

Rhett's face seemed to swim before Scarlett, and she felt that her stays were near ready to burst, along with the contents of her stomach at the sight of him.

He spoke solemnly, though his eyes settled upon Scarlett with a knowing smirk.

"I happened to hear that very rumor you were referring to, Ashley…but I do believe that it went that Scarlett's fee was substantially cheaper, but that she enjoyed it far more—"

"Why you rotten—"

"Spare me your righteous indignation, Wilkes. I'm not in the mood. As for you, Mrs. Butler, I came to Atlanta to see the children and was told that they were away at Tara. A pity, perhaps next time…"

"You're leaving again?" she managed, the weight in her chest like hot lead.

He nodded coolly. "After Miss Wilkes's wedding. I am acquainted with the groom, you see…a long association."

"Well, you are certainly not welcome—" Ashley began again.

"I happen to have an invitation, sir. That and I'll be damned if I start taking orders from you. As for Mrs. Butler attending as your _escort_—well, I'll look forward to witnessing that sort of circus. Naturally, I'm glad that its you and not me who is inciting her to spiral into the abyss of total ruin…"

"Stop it, Rhett! Why, you're one to talk! When you've left me here for two years to be subjected to talk and scandal!"

He bowed again, in the same mocking way as before. "My dear, I have already plummeted into perdition of another sense…I take no ownership over your fate. Mr. Wilkes—I'll see you at your sister's nuptials."

With that, he turned around and returned to his fine coach, which had been waiting at the end of the street.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Ashley muttered as Rhett's driver urged the horse on.

Scarlett shook her head, unable to speak. With any luck, she could just make it to the safety of her home before she passed out on the street. That would be just what the Old Guard needed to hear—they'd be saying that she was carrying Ashley's child next…Rhett's words floated to her, scattering like windblown leaves—something about abysses and total ruin. How dare he say that? How dare he?


	2. Ready to Run

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>Atlanta, Georgia, 1875<p>

Chapter 2:

The whiskey beat within Rhett's head like a club as the Reverend spoke in solemn tones, first to the throng of breath-holding onlookers, then to the bride, India Wilkes, and then to her groom, who peered over at Rhett with a knowing smirk on his face.

Kinnicutt Martin. Rhett's own cousin and boyhood best friend, who had lost a leg in the war. While the injury itself had been a product of foolhardy blockade-running rather than any actual battle, the result of the leg being crushed shipboard under the weight of an escaped barrel of cargo…no one was the wiser. For all intensive purposes, Kinnicutt Martin was hero, one to be worshiped and glorified on the Alter of the Lost Cause—and now he was marrying a respectable girl, one who had lost a beau in the conflict…and one for whom Rhett would not have given a sliver of hope insofar as finding a man, least of all so vigorous of one as his cousin.

India was washed up, in Rhett's opinion, her lashless grey eyes reminiscent of her brother Ashley's. A broken, hapless bird, capable only of letting out loud cries of protest and pain now that she had been rendered flightless. But to look at her now…According to Kinnicutt, the hardened spinster had trembled with passion beneath him as she had sacrificed her cherished innocence. She had vowed to love him in a thousand ways, and the former blockade-runner had returned her love in kind. Pair of damned fools.

It was, for Rhett Butler, ignominy of the highest order, that he had to stand as a groomsman at India Wilkes' wedding. Instinct told him to run, and quickly.

His gaze flickered for a moment over the crowded church, the faces of the onlookers wielded together, featureless. Music from the organ drifted toward him, as did the soft murmurings of the assembled guests. There were no friends among them, not now, not without the gentle guidance of Miss Melly…urging them to be kind to him. _Kindness_. Her last words to Scarlett. _Be kind to Captain Butler, he loves you so_.

So Scarlett had shown up, after all. Perhaps India had relented in her refusal, or perhaps Ashley had finally grown a spine. She was seated next to him, after all. "Bitch," he muttered under his breath as he gazed straight into the emerald depths of her eyes, hoping that she was skilled at reading lips.

He returned his attention to his cousin, who had just finished reciting his marital vows, to love, honor, cherish, comfort, etc…Rhett blinked sleepily, their conversation the night before still weighing heavily upon his mind.

"_There's still time to back out," Rhett said teasingly. "You have the heart of a flipping saint, Kin, for taking India Wilkes on."_

"_And you the luck of the damned Rhett, for all your folly," Kin bantered good-naturedly, taking another sip of port from his glass. "You're drinking whiskey now? Jesus Christ, Rhett, I want you sober tomorrow!"_

_Rhett smirked. "I don't need to be sober, just sufficiently competent."_

"_And you'll be that?"_

"_My word of honor."_

"_You're full of shit. And you're broke, as I understand it…"_

"_What the hell?"_

"_You lost a lot of money in the Union Pacific scandal…I'm not sure how much you've lost, but I know that it had to be substantial. You're a smart man, Rhett, but how long can you play with those sharks in Washington? Keeping up with them these days'll only lead to perdition, my friend."_

"_Stick to your newfound domesticity, if you please, Kin. Else you'll try my patience."_

"_I'm worried about you, Rhett_—_"_

"_Well don't!"_

"_I think that you've come back to town to curb your wife's spending, am I right?"_

"_If you've breathed a word of this to India_—_"_

"_God's blood, she's a damned woman, Rhett. You're family."_

"_If you so much as_—_"_

"_I won't. But about Scarlett_—_"_

"_The bitch."_

"_Yes, the bitch," Kinnicutt appeased him, "India has told me all about her…really, all of Atlanta is willing to share tell of her exploits. But I've not seen one for myself. She spends money like mad, that's certain, but as far as her penchant for cheating on her husbands goes, I only see her in the company of men sparingly."_

"_What about Ashley?"_

"_India's brother? She sees him rarely, and only in public."_

"_I'm going to divorce her, Kin. Before she realizes my_—_situation."_

"_Why not just tell her you're broke?"_

"_Go to Hell."_

"_I mean it. She's your wife, isn't she?"_

"_I need a divorce. And if you care about me as you claim, you'll procure one for me."_

"_I'm a lawyer, Rhett, not a goddamned miracle worker. You would have to have hard proof of adultery, not just a he-said, she-said type of thing…"_

"_If only Ashley still held charms for her…"_

"_From what I understand, her heart remains firmly invested in you, Rhett."_

"_That's not helpful. If only Ashley could be bought…"_

"_He couldn't be. Even when his mills were failing, he wouldn't accept my money_—_"_

_Rhett slammed his head around. "The mills were doing well, last I heard. Remarkably well."_

"_He had an investor from New York, I believe."_

"_Un-fucking-believable. Scarlett."_

"_You don't mean that she_—_"_

"_I most certainly do. Those mills are as dear to her as her children, and while she wouldn't necessarily shed a tear if her children starved, she'd be mighty aggrieved if the fruits of her labor ran aground. But to use my money to bail out Ashley_—_again…"_

"_Rhett, sit down before you fall down," Kin put out one hand to catch his cousin's arm, offering his support. He sighed heavily and shook his head._

"_Well, if you hang round long enough, you just might catch them together_—_but not in a compromising position, I'd guess. Scarlett's been mighty good, as far as I know…"_

"_Bitch." Rhett said again as he quaffed the last of his whiskey and plunked the empty glass aside. "I'll destroy her. And Ashley Wilkes too, if it comes to that."_

_Frustration darkened Kin's face. "Damn you, Rhett. Don't do this. I know you're still hurting_—_"_

"_I don't want to hear it."_

"_You're still in love with her."_

"_If you," Rhett said darkly, "bring up Scarlett O'Hara again, I will sock you from here to Clayton County."_

_Kin raised an eyebrow. "Her home, I take it? Face it, Rhett, she's not going to be leaving your thoughts anytime soon. If you're bound and determined to divorce her before she becomes aware of your situation, you'd best do it quickly…"_

Rhett closed his eyes again, the heat of the room had made him sweat profusely—and he suspected Scarlett's presence had not made it any better. His tailored wool suit was stuck to his skin and he was nauseated as he met her eyes once more. Her raven hair was covered in a lacy hat and her plunging décolletage revealed voluptuous breasts, only barely covered by her flimsy shawl. And yet—she was as damned desirable as she had been the day of the barbeque at Twelve Oaks, a carefree, spirited belle.

His eyes flickered again at the bride, not drably dressed as usual, tall and thin like her brother, her voice clear and resonant as she began to repeat the vows.

The Reverend's words floated over Rhett, something about if anyone present knew a reason as to why these two should not be joined, and then an invitation for that person to speak now…

Scarlett raised an eyebrow, but maintained her demure expression. Rhett heaved a sigh, the alcohol doing its work on him as he stood stagnant in the heat, wishing for the affair to be over with as quickly as possible.

"I do." A voice from the back of the church rang throughout the congregation. There was a gasp from the bride, then a silence that rung resoundingly throughout the room. Rhett himself was frozen in shock, then noticed that India's face was as pale as flour, her fingers slacking in their grip of Kin's hands.

Another burst of gasps, twitters of shock intermingled with nervous speculation as again the voice rang out, "I do."

Rhett glanced over at Scarlett, who had stepped back as if she expected to be struck by lightning, then back at India Wilkes, who had fallen at Kin's feet in a dead faint.


	3. Revealed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>Thank you all <strong>so<strong> much for the reviews, thus far. Feedback is always appreciated and loved.

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><p>Chapter 3:<p>

Rhett shook free of his inebriation and confusion, swaying around to focus his eyes on a drab figure of a man wearing a dingy cap of sorts and a gray, shapeless frock covered by an equally dingy grey jacket. He stood in the center aisle, shaking, as if he were having some sort of fit. Scarlett had struggled to her feet, her face chalk white and her eyes much too big for their sockets.

Lifting one shaky hand, the man pointed at Kin Martin and declared, "He did this to me! All of it. May your rotten soul burn in hell for this, Martin!"

Rhett hurriedly stepped forward in front of his cousin. "What the devil is this all about?" he demanded.

Kin caught his arm, stopping him in his tracks, then motioning for Ashley to aid poor India, who lay unconscious on the alter. "One of you ladies must be in possession of smelling salts—well? Use them, for God's sake."

Lumbering forward behind Rhett, his wooden leg hindering his progress only minimally, Kin put a rough hand upon the shoulder of the wretched man, focusing on his grimy face.

"I've never seen you before in my life."

"The hell you haven't!"

Scarlett, meanwhile, had sidestepped past the other onlookers, and stood next to Mrs. Meriwether, who was clutching her cane, mouth ajar but rendered speechless.

"You dare stand before these good people, you seek to marry into one of the best Southern families—tell them what you are, Kinnicutt Martin!"

"What I am?" Kin laughed, his tone hushed and grim, "I'd stake that you have no idea of what I am...or what I _can_ be..."

"Say what you need to say and get out," Rhett snapped, "before I call a constable and see you hauled out of here in handcuffs."

"Rhett Butler," the man bowed, somewhat mockingly. "I remember you as well. Your ships would come into port at Antigua, you'd play cards with the Yankee captains and the local prostitutes, and then you'd sell cotton sky-high...I bet you cleared half a million on that operation alone."

"I was fortunate," Rhett said thinly. "But I can't imagine that you would be among the Yankee garrison, sir."

The man spat, "Like hell! You bastards! You knew what happened to me and the others and you did nothing to aid us! Nothing!"

Kin grabbed hold of the front of the man's shirt and shook him violently. "You're insane! You hear me? Insane!"

"You'd like me to believe that, wouldn't you? That's what our captors told us—that we were crazy, that we had no identity! Goddamn you all! And you!" he rounded upon Rhett. "How long after I disappeared did you wait to marry my wife?"

Another burst of gasps, twitters of shock, mingled with nervous speculation.

"C-C-Charlie?" Scarlett stepped in front of Mrs. Meriwether, who held her back.

"He's insane, Scarlett," Doctor Meade said matter-of-factly. "This poor wretch is not Charles. He's out of his head."

"You too, Doctor?" the man gulped, then fell to his knees at Scarlett's feet. He took hold of the hem of her skirt in his hands and held it to his lips, finally bursting into tears. "I'm Charles Hamilton." he sobbed, "Or what's left of him..."

Rhett pounced upon the man like one possessed, twisting his fists into the man's filthy shirt and slammed him hard against the stone floor of the church.

"What do you mean by coming here? Answer me, you idiot! Answer me! So help me God, you tell me the truth or I'll snap your sorry neck in half."

"Stop it, Rhett!" Scarlett shrilled. "Rhett! Stop!"

Kin, for his part, stood with his hands at his sides, casting a sideways glance at India, who was being helped up by the Reverend. His large black eyes were filled with shrewdness and feverish with worry. Behind him stood several large bodied Negroes who accompanied him at all times, clearly prepared to initiate an attack upon the intruder should the order be given. Judging by Kin's passive stance, there would be no such order. Realization was glazing in his eyes. He knew exactly who the man was and why he had chosen this moment to appear...if only he could play his cards right...

"Rhett," he cleared his throat, "Rhett, release this man. He's obviously an escaped mental patient of some sort...whatever his identity...he certainly does not seem to be in possession of his faculties."

"Goddamn you—"

"Stop it, sir, I beg you. You have interrupted my wedding, which is unfortunate at very best. But a spirit of Christian pity moves me to show you compassion—Marcus?"

The biggest of the menservants stepped forward.

"Escort this poor soul to the Sherriff's office. If I'm not mistaken, that's a gown from Central State...he's clearly an escaped lunatic who has assumed the identity of a dead man. I'll pay for his transportation myself."

"No!" the man screamed pitifully, "Not back there! Please, help me! Ashley!"

Scarlett was trembling violently as Marcus and two of the other lackeys grabbed hold of the man's arms, dragging him kicking and screaming out of the church, the sounds of his cries echoing behind him as resoundingly as the church bell.

Ashley, standing at her side now, let out a firm, "Thank God."

Rhett spat out a curse as he slowly turned to face his wife and the previous object of her desire.

"I take it that you were not convinced that he was your cousin?"

Ashley shook his head. "Of course not. He died in camp. Pneumonia. My God in Heaven, no."

Rhett ran his fingers though his hair, then glanced back at Scarlett, who was still standing speechless, her eyes not leaving the doorway through which the man who had called himself Charles Hamilton had been dragged away...


	4. I Just Love Him So

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>As always, I continue to be grateful for the reviews. Feedback is always appreciated and loved.<p>

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><p>Chapter 4:<p>

The day had begun like any other.

Scarlett had risen at noon for breakfast, still weary from the late-night gala at the National in honor of the new Mr. and Mrs. Kinnicutt Martin. She spread the_ Journal-Constitution_ out upon the dining table and skimmed over the outrageous and much-exaggerated account of the affair in the Society pages. It had been a good night, despite the hullabaloo at the ceremony itself. If only Rhett would have danced with her…he had scarcely met her eyes.

When Pansy, one of only two ladies' maids left in her mansion, set a sterling silver tea service before her, Scarlett sorted through the disappointingly few invitations and letters she had received in the morning post. So the Old Guard _still_ hadn't forgiven her. No matter how morosely she dressed and no matter how many Sewing Circles she attended in an attempt to right her reputation: she had spat in Society's face, and she now was reaping the repercussions. But the fact that she had to do it alone was the one which weighed most heavily on her heart. Melly would have stood with her…

She sipped Pansy's weak, twice-strained tea, setting the more interesting of the invitations to her right as she munched on a wedge of toasted bread dabbed with a lick of fresh honey.

The excitement of the previous day was over, at least. Rhett would leave again for God-knows-where and India and her new husband would depart for their honeymoon and she would be left alone. As for the man who had claimed to be Charles, he was apparently on his way back to the Central State Lunatic Asylum in Milledgeville according to the paper…indeed, as far as Scarlett was concerned, the day following the wedding had been entirely unremarkable. Perhaps even a bit mundane.

Until, that is, she broke the crimson seal on a large white envelope and released from its folds a letter from Washington—one that would change her life forever. Of course, she didn't know this for certain at the time, though the first sentence sent an unmistakable torrent of panic through her body.

"_Dear Mrs. Butler - It is with sincerest desire to spare you from any sort of emotional distress that I write; however, it is my duty to inform you that your husband, Captain Charles Hamilton, Esq., was readmitted into the boundaries of the United States on 1 March of this year."_

_Oh God_. Her eyelids snapped high.

Her vision blurred with a rush of accumulating tears and her hands went cold as she raised the paper closer to her eyes.

"…_a prisoner exchange in Antigua, resulting in the subsequent release of Captain Hamilton and several other captured Americans, all former Confederate officers. Regrettably, the conditions in which these gentlemen were kept were abysmal, to be quite frank…" _

She lifted cup of tea to her lips to stifle the whimper rising in her throat, but her hand began trembling fiercely, forcing her to return the cup clattering to its dish.

"_Captain Hamilton will require extensive care, both mental and physical. He has been referred to a physician in Augusta, Georgia for continued evaluation. Unfortunately, since Captain Hamilton's capture occurred while he was in open rebellion against the United States government, we are under no obligation to underwrite any subsequent expenses incurred as a result of his care; rather, this letter is meant only to advise you of your obligations. Sincerely, H.M. Starr, Assistant Secretary, Veterans' Assistance Program"_

Scarlett's jaw fell open and the whimper she had tried to contain suddenly slipped from her mouth. This was no joke. Charlie had somehow found his way back to Atlanta and to her. Not only that, there were clear expectations for her manner of dealing with this revelation—not to mention harsh penalties for not meeting said expectations—it was all perfectly clear. But how to tell Wade Hampton that the father who had supposedly died before he was born was not dead at all? How to tell Rhett? Did that mean that she wasn't really married to Rhett at all? She had to speak with someone who could make sense of it all…anyone.

Ashley was the first name that came to Scarlett's mind, and without any further thought she bounded out of her own house and down the street to his. He was sitting in a chair in the kitchen, his golden hair reflecting the sunlight as it shone through the windowpane. The front door was unlocked, so Scarlett showed herself in.

"Ashley!" she cried.

"Scarlett," Ashley jerked his head up toward her. Though she tried to curb the urgency in her tone in an attempt to sound nonchalant, Scarlett's words sounded thickly with alarm and frightened him.

Beau's elbows were propped upon the table, his chin resting wearily in his palms. "Hello Aunt Scarlett." His eyelids looked heavy and he forcibly blinked the pale grey eyes he had inherited from his father. His sigh made clear his boredom as he blew away a wisp of dark hair that had fallen into his face.

"Why don't you run over to play with Wade, Beau, honey. I need to talk to your Papa alone, if that's alright."

Beau looked towards his father for a sign of approval, which quickly was granted, and the small boy excused himself without hesitation.

"What is it, Scarlett?" Ashley said with concern. "Not Rhett, surely?"

"N-not that." Scarlett tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and swallowed, hoping the extra moment would allow her to rein in her nerves. "_This_." She passed the letter over to Ashley, who hurriedly began to read.

"It appears to be an official missive…oh dear God!" Ashley leapt to his feet the moment he made the realization. His vivid eyes immediately began shifting wildly from left to right as he continued to read the letter.

His eyes widened with worry and he slowly straightened his spine before reaching out and grabbing Scarlett's hand. "Are you alright? The expression on your face is...well, positively ghastly." Though her eyelids were raised high her eyes were also seeming to squint. "Why, those are tears in your eyes!"

Scarlett sucked her lips into the seam of her mouth for several seconds before speaking. Blood seem to drain from the rest of her body and into her restless legs. She came to her feet, unable to sit for a moment longer. "Tell me truly, Ashley. What does this mean—for Wade, for me? I've been—_living in sin_!" She paced nervously back and forth, her heels scraping over the creaky floorboards.

"Well, you had no idea. My God, _I _had no idea, even face to face with him. I suppose that it could have come at a worse time…" Scarlett rounded to face him as he continued to speak. "I was under the impression you had grown resolved to the inevitable failure of your marriage?"

Scarlett's feet stilled and she stared at Ashley, astounded by his comment. "Resolved? You could not be farther from it, Ashley Wilkes! I love him. I _love_ him!"

Ashley stroked his chin and studied Scarlett. "Hmm."

"You haven't answered me. What should I do? What can I do?" Scarlett asked, clutching at his hand. "_Please_. Answer me."

"Alright," Ashley replied, wrenching his hand away from her. "Rhett might have been somewhat attentive toward you at the wedding yesterday, I'll concede that, but he's hardly at the point of coming back to you. But aren't you forgetting the case-in-point, Scarlett? According to this letter, assuming that it is legitimate and I believe that it is, you are still legally married to Charles."

"It can't be true!"

Ashley slowly lifted his gaze from the letter. "No, Scarlett, it can be." He rushed toward her and thrust the letter back at her. "We must intervene. Help him before he's sent to Milledgeville. Its our duty."

"He's been dead for fourteen years! It's a misunderstanding, a mistaken identity, it must be!"

Ashley pointed at the letter. "I daresay there is no misunderstanding. Just read it!"

Scarlett resumed pacing the short distance behind Ashley's chair. "Rhett can make this all disappear if he wants. He has so much money and knows so many people. He can make it go away, I'm sure of it."

Ashley took Scarlett's shoulders and leaned away from her. "Could you face Melly, after doing such a thing?"

"Don't drag Melly into this!"

"He's her brother, Scarlett, her flesh-and-blood. She loved no one in this world more, save for you and me and Beau. Can you live with yourself if you deny him? Deny Wade—his father?"

"He's never known his father and its never bothered him. Why—what about Rhett? He's just as good as his father."

Ashley rolled his eyes. "What a marvelous one he's been in the past two years, too."

"Don't—just don't, Ashley. But can't you see what this means? If I was never really Rhett's wife, then he be free to force us from our home for...a pauper's existence." Tears welled up anew in Scarlett's eyes, "and I'll lose Tara...Will can't afford the upkeep all by himself and he and Sue will starve."

Ashley dropped the letter on the table and grabbed Scarlett, pulling her tightly to him. "It will never come to that. I promise. None of this is any fault of yours. None whatsoever."

He then took Scarlett's chin in his palm and tilted it upward, not allowing her to look away. "Because we will do whatever we must to make this as painless as possible. Anything we must to see Rhett placated and Charles's condition stabilized."

"Anything?" Scarlett's voice broke.

Ashley nodded emphatically. "Of course, Scarlett—_anything_. You have my word of honor. Scarlett—this isn't your doing."

"Why is it my burden to bear, then?"

"He loved you, Scarlett. He loved you very, very much. Isn't that enough of a reason?"

"But I love someone else! My _husband_!"

"And does he love you? Can you honestly look yourself in the face and say that he does, indeed, love you?"

Scarlett's blazing emerald eyes regarded Ashley solemnly. "We'll take Charlie home then, where he belongs."

"Atlanta is his home—"

"Not my house. Not my house with Rhett. I'll take him to Tara."

"He'll need a good doctor, Scarlett. Very probably a servant to aid him with the most basic tasks. Can Will and Suellen spare the room?"

"Tara's half mine, isn't it? I shouldn't have to ask."

"Scarlett." Ashley moved closer to her, his voice softening. "I did not mean to be so callous about Rhett. It was not my place to speak about a subject of which I have no knowledge whatsoever."

She looked back at him. "That goes without saying. But you're right, Ashley. He is quite gone, I'm afraid. And that—that _is _my fault. I sense that it is much too late to do our marriage any good. I'd better go home and start writing the necessary letters."


	5. Goodbye, Rhett

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>As always, I can't express enough gratitude for the reviews. Feedback is always appreciated and loved…this story has been in my mind for quite a while, and as it develops, it is so helpful to read what others think. So, THANK YOU! And do enjoy!<p>

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><p>Chapter 5:<p>

"'Scuse me, Mist' Rhett?"

Rhett Butler lifted one eyelid but he was not about to move from his pillow. "What time is it, Pork?"

His grey-headed valet, who had served Gerald O'Hara for many years before he served him, stood before Rhett's bed. "Pas' noon now, Mist' Rhett."

"Too early. Very long night. Need sleep," he groaned, pulling the soft cotton sheet over his head.

"But Mist' Rhett. Ah's s'posed to tell you dat Miz Scarlett's here…"

"Pork, my head pains me." Indeed, Rhett's head throbbed with every word. "I am in no condition to receive visitors."

"But Mist' Rhett—"

"Who is it?" Rhett rolled onto his back and lifted the edge of the sheet from his face.

"Ah's done tole you, Mist' Rhett. Its Miz Scarlett!"

Rhett opened his eyes. The old man was clearly discomposed. He could not even meet Rhett's gaze. "Pork, what the devil would give you the indication that I wish to see her? Most especially at this particular moment!"

"'Cause, Mist' Rhett," Pork cleared his throat, "Miz Scarlett say dat Mist' Ashley and her gwine ter Milledgeville today. Mist' Charles ain't dead after all…"

Rhett didn't bother to dress. He hastily wrapped a striped dressing gown over his naked body, tied it at his waist and stormed from his bedroom. Tearing down the creaking stair treads, he barged through the parlor door of his cousin's townhouse.

And there she was.

The green-eyed beauty he'd fallen in love with…His _wife_. Only, if this nonsensical claim was true, they _weren't_ married at all.

"There you are, Rhett," crooned Scarlett, her gown of rich burgundy perfectly accenting her full, pink lips. "I realize you must have been in a great hurry to greet your beloved wife, but you might have considered at least dressing properly for Ashley's sake." She grinned over the lip of her teacup, inclining her head towards Wilkes, who was seated at the opposite end of the room.

His longtime rival for her affections rose and bowed. "Rhett."

Rhett did not honor him by returning in kind in the least. He narrowed his eyes and stalked angrily past Ashley and toward his wife.

"Pork informs me that we have a _situation_, Mrs. Butler? Perhaps you can explain it better than he did, or perhaps Ashley can grace me with the tale?"

"I was hoping that you would share your thoughts with us," Ashley said, his voice deadly calm.

Rhett halted and turned.

Scarlett glanced briefly over at Ashley then returned her gaze to Rhett.

"I fear I am as much at a loss as anyone else." Though it seemed his remark was meant for Ashley, his eyes remained fixed on Scarlett. "Although, if your desire was to divorce me, Scarlett, you didn't have to resurrect your previous husband from the dead to attain it."

"Oh, Rhett. Surely you're joking?"

"Surely _you_ are, Scarlett. I'm not sure who or what has you so taken, but I can assure you that this person, whoever he is, is not Charles Hamilton. And he is most assuredly _not_ your husband."

When Scarlett did not reply, Ashley leaned to Rhett's ear and whispered into it. "Forgive me for my interference, Rhett, but you must understand that Scarlett did not come to the decision to tell you this lightly—"

"Of course she didn't. Tell me this lightly! For God's sake, Ashley, what do you both take me for, a fool?" Rhett growled, shoving Ashley away. "What I don't understand is the purpose of your visit. I do not for a moment believe that that person in the church was Scarlett's first husband, but if she is of a mind to make him her fourth…I certainly have no objection." He studied her without reservation.

She lifted her chin defiantly. "You're despicable."

Rhett rolled his eyes. "You know, Scarlett, for all the intelligence that lurks within that shrewd little brain of yours, you are certainly easily taken in." He turned to look at Ashley, whose face was white. "Isn't that right, Ashley?" It was evident that Scarlett could barely contain her seething indignation. But Rhett wasn't finished. He took Scarlett's hand in his and squeezed it gently. "I know that your first marriage and subsequent widowhood happened so suddenly that your new name will take time to become accustomed to. But do not fret, my dear, it will come soon enough."

Suddenly, the attention of all three parties was turned towards the front door, which was opened without any ceremonious announcement by Pork or any of the maids. Heavy footfalls in the hallway resounded through the passage to the parlor.

"Ah—you're here already, Scarlett. Hello, Ashley."

Rhett grasped Kin Martin's shoulder and shook him. "What the blazes is going on here? You're supposed to be on your honeymoon, anyway—"

"I honestly could not tell you, but I intend to find out." Kin pushed away his cousin's arm and headed for Scarlett. He whisked the cup of tea from her hand, then abruptly pulled her to her feet and marched her toward the doorway.

"Kinnicutt, I say, you are being very rude!" Ashley protested while Scarlett struggled to disengage his hand from her arm.

When it became clear Kin was not about to release her, she looked back over her shoulder to Rhett. "Are you going to just stand there?"

"Ashley, will you please escort Rhett's most charming wife to the dining room? She does not need to hear this." He flung Scarlett toward Ashley, who took her arm and continued into the passage.

"Absolutely, if you promise to explain—"

The moment Ashley and Scarlett had passed through the parlor door, Kin closed and locked it behind them without a word of explanation.

"Rhett, sit down. Quite obviously, we have much to discuss." He gestured to the chair and Rhett sat down with some trepidation.

"You're damn right we do, Kin. Let us begin this little interview with a simple question—_why_?"

The muscles in Kin's jaw clenched. "I had no where else to go ... no other choice." He lifted his eyes and peered up at his cousin, not seeming afflicted in the least with nerves. "God's truth, Rhett. The last thing I expected was for him to track me down here."

Rhett raised his eyebrows at that. "_That_ is why you married India! Insurance? Its all been a bloody _sham_?"

"Oh, but I believe we are…married, that is…" Kin didn't sound so sure of himself at that.

"Do you take me for a fool, Kin? You knew that Charles Hamilton was alive and you withheld that information from me?"

Suddenly, there was a persistent knocking at the parlor door. "Rhett!"

He turned his head toward the door. "Not now, damn it!"

"Look, Rhett, listen to me. I have no idea whether or not that man is Charles. All I heard was from a friend of mine who said that one of the freed prisoners-of-war was married to a girl from Clayton County—and as for my marriage—I do care about India, in truth."

"Rhett!" Ashley yelled from the other side of the door. "Open this door! I must tell you something _very_ important."

"What does that man _want_?" Rhett rose, shaking his head as he stalked toward the door and, turning the key, he opened the door a hand's width. Scarlett and Ashley were standing just on the other side.

"What is it that could not wait," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "until I have finished my discussion with my cousin?"

Ashley was shaking his head fiercely. "I must say, Martin, you had me duped. Damn me. I knew that your name was familiar and now I have remembered _why_!"

"What are you rambling on about?"

"I recall hearing something quite extraordinary while I was imprisoned at Rock Island—about a privateer named Martin who made a fortune in human trafficking. Captured Confederates were loaded on prison ships and sold to Yankee jailors—" Ashley's eyes were wild. "others, I was told, were not so lucky—they ended up rotting in island bordellos instead!" Ashley's eyes flashed momentarily toward Rhett. "I hope, Rhett, that you will heed my words. This man is responsible for my cousin's condition, for heinous atrocities—"

"Must you defame me in front of her as well?" Kin protested, pointing at Scarlett.

"She has a right to hear it! Dare you deny it?"

Rhett's mouth flapped open and then snapped closed again as he struggled to apply some logic to this revelation…oh he had always heard rumors of Kin's elicit dealings during the war, but he'd not for a moment given them any credence.

"Scarlett, come here."

She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I believe she heard every word," Ashley snapped. "And do you not agree that it was her right to hear it?"

"Indeed I did." She unfolded her arms and sat down, placing her small white hands atop her knee.

Rhett looked wide-eyed at her. "You can't mean to pursue this? You have no obligation, Scarlett, none at all."

"He is my husband."

Kin clapped his hands together. "There you have it, Rhett. You see, I am redeemed. A fairly satisfactory solution to your problem, is it not? And you didn't even have to divorce her…"

Ashley shook his head solemnly. "Did you not hear what I said? You are a criminal, Kinnicutt Martin!"

Shoving his fingers through his hair, Kin dropped back onto the settee. "And I am your brother-in-law now, Ashley—Rhett—what is it?"

Slowly Rhett sat down next to Scarlett. "So, this is true ... we aren't married—_legally _married?"

"You heard your cousin." She rose from her seat and walked into the passage. Kin and Rhett exchanged confused glances. Ashley moved to follow her, but was held back by Rhett.

"This is between Scarlett and I."

She was standing in the foyer, staring down at the floor. Rhett moved beside her and put a hand on her shoulder. "Look, you don't have to do this…you are in no way obligated to him…"

She looked up at her husband, "Melly would never forgive me if I did not."

Rhett began to feel nauseous. He was going to lose her…and not on his terms.

"What is _your_ feeling? He's disabled, Scarlett. He's crazy. He won't be a husband to you."

She was nervously fingering a small garnet cross which dangled from the pearl necklace around her neck, but she lifted her chin with pride and addressed him. "I've not had a husband in quite some time…"

Scarlett moved closer to Rhett and, though it was very faint, he heard her say, "Were you going to tell me of your intention to divorce me?"

The skin bracketing the bridge of Rhett's nose pinched as he tried to reconcile the truth of Scarlett's statement with the discomfort he felt with the instant dissolution of their marriage, but she did not give him the chance to speak. "But I am glad that this has happened, so, at the very least, I would not be ruined by a divorce."

"So, this is your final decision?" Rhett asked.

She turned her emerald eyes up to him. "Yes. Yes, it is." She rubbed her fingers over her temples and began to pace. "I'm going to take him to Tara."

Rhett sighed. "And so, when I have a desire to see Wade and Ella—"

Scarlett nodded. "I haven't the faintest notion what else to do. Just go along with it, I suppose…You are welcome to see them if we are in Atlanta."

"When do you not just _go along_ with it?" Rhett sighed heavily.

"Well, you gave me no choice! What was I supposed to do, beg?"

His gaze flashed back to Scarlett. She was trembling…and he couldn't bring himself to touch her.

"I kept expecting you to come back. Now _that_ I could explain the children. But you went through with everything, and moved on with your life without me."

"Well, _my darling _Scarlett now we are officially un-married—we can acknowledge that the fault of the failure of our union lies with the both of us. We can make peace, bury the hatchet…"

The room remained silent for several moments, no one daring to speak.

Then, Pork entered the crypt-silent parlor looking a little shame-faced. "Miz Watling at de back door for you, Mist' Rhett."

Scarlett's expression instantly shifted from stunned to wicked delight. "Not just yet, Rhett." Her eyes twinkled as an idea seemed to burst into her mind. "But Pork? We have come to the conclusion that Captain Butler and my marriage is completely null and void due to the fact that Mr. Hamilton has been miraculously restored to us. Consequently—you don't need to feel any sort of loyalty toward him. You're free to come back to Tara with me, Pork. With the rest of our _family_."

Rhett's mouth felt agape. First his wife had been taken from him, now his valet.

Scarlett grasped Ashley's arm and drew him from his place of safety by the door. "Come with me, Ashley, dear." She smiled mischievously at him. "Oh, how wonderful is this? I have so missed having a man in the house. You cannot imagine what it is like to live without a husband for two whole years... But now I know I shall not have to, for I have a man who loves me unconditionally—oh yes, it has been a long time!"

Rhett wilted.

And Scarlett and Ashley walked out the door…

**_Later that evening_**

Rhett's head pained him all that day, and into the evening too. But he could not blame the constant throbbing on the liquor he imbibed the night previous.

It was his wife.

Or rather, the fact that he possessed a wife who was married to another—it was not to be borne. After all, it would have rendered his own Bonnie illegitimate. That was unconscionable. If it was anyone else, he would have a chance of appealing to the courts for an annulment of the first marriage, a declaration of death…anything! But he wanted to be rid of Scarlett, didn't he? This was a less painful avenue for both of them…Oh his father would have gotten a laugh out of this, his eldest son, whose head was so dulled with love that he had married a woman who did not return the sentiment, to be used and hurt and embittered, ruined by whiskey and heartache…

But damn it all, he still felt something for her…

His only choice was to annul this sham of a remarriage before anyone of the Old Guard heard of Charles Hamilton's resurrection.

But Rhett hadn't the faintest notion how one obtained an annulment when both parties involved were consenting…at least, he thought Charles would be consenting… He needed a lawyer. A good one who knew the wormholes in law but could also be trusted to be very discrete in wiping away a most delicate and highly embarrassing matter. Also one that didn't cost a fortune, since his funds were embarrassingly limited. He needed Kin. Who had taken his new bride to Mexico.

It was a sound battle plan, but for that fact.

He'd rattled his mind and then rehashed the situation with Belle for hours, but even now, at the dinner hour, he was still at a complete loss. Rhett sat hunched, peering out of the parlor window, glancing every now and again at the empty whisky decanter at his elbow, not willing to disclose to Belle that he didn't have enough cash to purchase another bottle—or at least one worth drinking.

Suddenly, there was a female hand upon his shoulder. He turned to see Belle behind him.

"There ain't no logic in avoiding Scarlett, Rhett." Her tone was low and quiet. "In fact, avoiding her is probably the most dim-witted thing you can do right now."

Rhett rolled on his shoulder along the wall until he faced the madam. He knew he looked utterly defeated but there was no helping it.

"Think about it. If you are going to somehow annul her marriage, you're gonna need her agreement. I figure the best thing you can do is charm her. Work to convince her that she don't want this marriage to end any more than you do. Get her to see your side and she'll be eatin' out of your hand.

Rhett dropped his head. "You're right of course, Belle. It's only that seeing her reminds me of what a huge mess I've made of my life."

"Well, no one but you and me and Kin and her and Mist' Wilkes know about her husband. So you haven't got them society folks to contend with."

"Kin, _hmph_. See what a worthless fool he is? Taking India Wilkes out of the country to live on his ill-gotten gains while I sit here and suffer…you know, Belle, I could get charges filed against me if Charles recovers."

"Well, you just deal with 'em then." Belle shook his head, disgusted. "But in the mean time, talk to Scarlett. She's got to have at least half a heart if she's willin' to put you aside for him... Yep, that's somethin' Miz Wilkes would have done...Sure is…Much as it pains me to say it, you could have done a hell of a lot worse, Rhett—and I reckon if you don't win her back, that is exactly what you will do…"


	6. I'll Take Care of You

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>I repeat this same message at the beginning of each chapter, but it's true - I can't express enough gratitude for the reviews. I love and appreciate any and all feedback…the beauty of this site is that readers <em>can<em> leave reviews and let the author know what he/she thinks. It's truly an awesome tool for self-improvement. So, please **REVIEW**. And **THANK** **YOU** for the reviews thus far! And do enjoy!

*Also, I received a message inquiring about the title - it comes from a Christmas song, believe it or not, entitled "Fairytale of New York"; courtesy of the Irish rock band, The Pogues.*

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><p>Chapter 6:<p>

It was raining...quite a bit.

Only a bit, Ashley had said.

Scarlett looked down at the dripping embroidered skirt of her jaconet muslin afternoon dress, and became instantly nauseous. It was surely ruined.

She and Ashley had only been walking for two minutes and already she was soaked to her knees. The umbrella they shared had done nothing to protect her dress or cerulean crêpe de Chine jacket from the white sheets of rain sweeping down upon the streets of sleepy Milledgeville.

Her gown would never be the same.

_Ever. _

And when could she ever afford another half so fine? Not without Rhett's money, that much was certain.

Had recovering Charles not been foremost on both of their minds, Scarlett would have never have agreed to shop with Ashley for a few sartorial essentials for her husband - her first one, not her third - on such a horrid day as this.

The brightness in Scarlett's eyes dulled quite suddenly and her countenance became sober. "Are you frightened, Ashley?"

"Not at all—and you should not be either."

Scarlett exhaled as her frustration with him grew. How dare he be so cavalier about the whole thing? Sure, it had been well and good in front of Rhett - the look of shock on his face had been enough to sustain her good humor until Christmas - but this was real life, with a real man, a real _husband_. One whom she had managed to forget about entirely.

"Nonetheless, I would like to get out of rain, so let us go inside."

But Scarlett paused before the shop door. A steady stream of water poured from the O'Malley and Sons sign above, pounding the umbrella she and Ashley huddled beneath like a roaring waterfall.

Ashley squeezed her shoulder. "Scarlett, we are both getting soaked. What is it?"

Something within her caused her to tremble. Her future lay just beyond, and yet, she could not seem to step over the threshold.

What if, like Rhett claimed, it wasn't even Charles at all—or worse, what if it was, and he expected her to simply pick up where they had left off?

Before she could worry over it a moment longer, Ashley pressed down the brass latch and the shop door opened. A bell sounded overhead as Ashley dragged her through the door, noisily heralding their entrance to the startled shopkeeper.

The raven-haired man looked up from the glittering piece of jewelry he was holding in his hand and whirled around as well. His black eyes instantly locked with Scarlett's.

Scarlett exhaled, not willing to believe that he had followed them there.

"Do you know, Scarlett, I can't recall if you liked rubies or emeralds. Which do you prefer?"

She did not answer. She could not say a word. She could not. It was him.

Rhett.

The shopkeeper smiled up at Scarlett and Ashley, clearly assuming them to be a married couple. "Good afternoon, sir, ma'am. If you'll excuse me for a moment, Mr. Butler."

"Good afternoon, sir," Ashley replied distractedly. "I see you are occupied; please, do not hurry on our account. We are in no hurry to be served. In truth, we would be most content to simply browse."

"Absolutely, sir." The shopkeeper hurriedly bobbed a bow. "If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask."

Scarlett wrenched her gaze from Rhett, and stared blindly into the glass case at a pair of amber drop earbobs, but she could feel the heat of his eyes still upon her.

"You know, Scarlett, I don't think that Charles will be able to afford those…"

"Oh hush your mouth, Rhett Butler," Scarlett whispered hotly into her husband's ear. "You are not the least bit amusing and your antics are embarrassing me. Why did you follow us? Why?"

"I am only teasing, Scarlett." Rhett grinned down at her, but when his gaze met Scarlett's fretful eyes, he realized the extent of her unease.

"Please, leave." Scarlett's chest tightened like corset crossed bindings as her nerves rubbed ever more raw.

"I apologize. Really, I do. Though...these rings are lovely aren't they? Almost as ostentatious as one that I once purchased for my…fiancée."

She turned and glanced over her shoulder momentarily, then smiled brightly, and spoke quietly through her teeth. "It's a good thing that _that_ marriage never was…It sure turned out better for _you_, anyway."

Rhett sucked his lips into his mouth and gave his head a nod.

"It would appear that way, for both parties. But are you sure?"

"Yes."

He clasped her wrist and drew her closer to him.

"Oh, God's nightgown, Rhett, stop it!"

"You're making a mistake."

"Well, what do you suggest I do?"

Rhett glanced over at the shopkeeper again, and Scarlett hesitantly followed her husband's gaze. Now he was examining a necklace dripping with graduated droplets of verdant emeralds and snowy pearls.

"Let me buy that for you. And then come home."

He then took the soggy fashionable fastener with its dripping white feather from Scarlett's head and shoved it under his own arm.

"Rhett, you're crushing it!" Scarlett ground out between her teeth.

Rhett didn't reply. His eyes momentarily shot in Ashley's direction again, and then he quickly plucked four hairpins from Scarlett's hair, sending a cascade of black waves tumbling down her back.

Before she could protest, Rhett had shoved his fingers through the matted hair at her crown to restore the fullness of her waist-length locks. "Well now, much better."

Scarlett pushed his hands away and reached for her soaked hat, but Rhett turned so that she could not retrieve it.

"I am only trying to help. You want to present well to Charles, do you not, Scarlett?"

A twittering male voice suddenly called out from the rear of the shop.

"Scarlett! We must _go_."

She couldn't leave him - not when he was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. But she had to leave him.

Her gaze settled agreeably on a well-dressed grey-haired lady whose eyes met hers and whose expression said: if that man belonged to me, I would have let him buy me that necklace and those earbobs too - if you don't want him, I do.

Scarlett looked up with a sigh.

"Goodbye, Rhett."

Rhett only grinned. "Mrs. _Hamilton_, always a pleasure."

She threw him a nasty glare, then followed Ashley back out into the rain…

**_That same afternoon_**

Coming to a door made of metal and wood, the guard slid the key into the lock and struggled for a second or two to turn it, grunting as it finally gave way. Scarlett was standing directly behind Ashley, and felt a wave of filth and human stench wash over her like a tidal wave.

The residents of the Central State Lunatic Asylum were not quiet on a good day, but the presence of the outsiders had rattled some of their nerves, so their incoherent babblings were tenfold the usual amount, according to the man who had seen them in. Insane men and half naked women peered out at Scarlett through the slits in the doors, causing her to jump back, as if their malady could be transferred to her. Her fear had mounted with each step that she took. Fury was expanding within her chest, toward Ashley, toward Melly, toward poor Charlie himself. She wanted to run back to Rhett kicking and screaming…but she had to do this - she had to.

"Ma'am? Right here," the guard was saying.

She moved slowly, with a great deal of trepidation. There was no window in Charles's cell, and that was what it looked like, more a jail cell than a care facility. She had to get him out of there…no one deserved to live in such a place…

Slowly, her eyes traveled over the hard floor until she saw him. Not a man, no, a creature, was cowering in one corner of the cell.

It couldn't be Charles. It couldn't be the dreamy, moonstruck boy she had married, who had gone to college and Europe and wanted nothing more than to live out his days with the love he thought he'd won.

That boy had had gentle brown doe's eyes and an angelic face. His soft, pale brown hair had brushed against her cheeks…How long ago?

"He's naked." Ashley remarked, apparently at a loss for words.

"Course he is," the guard said. "Might have hung hisself, else. He was carryin' on something horrible when they brought him yesterday."

Scarlett blinked the sweat out of her burning eyes, thinking about Rhett and safety, but realizing her obligation - Ashley had already made a move toward the form in the cell. He had taken off his coat and thrown it on the naked shoulders of the man, whoever he was. Surely he wasn't Charles…he _couldn't_ have been Charles.

"Step easy, Mister Wilkes. He's not stable."

"He's my cousin - I must -"

Charles's eyes narrowed and he pounced upon Ashley like a feral cat, digging his nails into his cheeks, pummeling him with his fists.

"You will not!" he was screaming. "No! No!"

Ashley out of the way, he rushed at Scarlett, but stopped short of her. He grasped hold of her hem, just as he had done in the church, and put his lips against it. Recognition sliced through Scarlett's heart. He remembered her.

She stumbled backwards into the corridor, his blank eyes following her. His hair was shorn, with big gaping patches missing…perhaps he had even torn them out…His face was gaunt, his eyes like great brown orbs buried within his hollow cheeks.

She covered her face with her hands, unwilling to look anymore, but she heard Ashley shuffling, his face bloody from where Charles had attacked him. The guard stood at the ready, a club in hand.

"That won't be necessary," Ashley murmured. "Charles, Scarlett and I are going to take you to Tara. You'll be all right, I promise."

His name was tripping on Scarlett's lips. Melly or some other unseen force must have prompted her to utter: "C-C-Charlie?"

At last, she managed a "Please..." Her dry lips murmured, "Please, don't hurt him."

She bent down and took his bloodied arm and squeezed his limp hand, her expression one of shock and repulsion. As swiftly as he had been roused, he collapsed into Scarlett's arms, and she had to rely upon the wall to keep her from toppling over under his weight, thin as he was.

Ashley was holding a handkerchief against his bleeding face, his lips curved. "This is going to be more difficult than I had thought."

The guard ushered them both from the cell after pulling Charles away from Scarlett and setting his limp body aside like a rag doll.

"What do you two want to do now?"

Scarlett's attention was focused upon Ashley's cheek, spotted with blood that reminded her of dark teardrops.

"He's my cousin," Ashley was saying, "my wife's brother…I have an obligation…"

Scarlett sighed heavily, then glanced back at Charles, slumped over in his cell. "We'll take him home, of course."

The guard sighed. "'Fraid your too late to do much good, ma'am."

Scarlett looked at the man squarely in the face, then at Ashley. "We'll take him home anyway…as you say, we have an…obligation."


	7. Landslide

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

* * *

><p>As always, <strong>thank you<strong> all so very much for the reviews!

*Also, I received a question regarding the historicity of the Central State L. A. Yes, it is a historical location and it is located in Milledgeville (the antebellum capital), Georgia. *

* * *

><p>Chapter 7:<p>

Scarlett sat vigilant in the wing chair outside of Charles's room, her sister Suellen opposite from her. Mammy, her own Mammy and her Mother's, was seated as well, diligently mending a worn sock with her stubby, arthritic fingers. She had seen to the task of bathing Charles with Scarlett's own scented Parisian soap, which had caused Suellen to wail about the unfairness of it all. Scarlett thought that secretly, Suellen was probably plotting her early demise over this turn of events—now that Rhett would not be the ultimate underwriter of her expenses. Not that there was any love lost between the two sisters, of course. Ironically, the strife between them had been passed to their children, and Scarlett was half waiting for another scream to come from the nursery, where Scarlett's own Ella was forever getting into fights with Susie, Suellen's eldest. Wade, Scarlett's son, was in Atlanta with his cousin Beau, blissfully unaware that the father that he had never known and always presumed dead was laying asleep in his grandfather's old bedroom.

Suellen put a hand on her mounded belly, swelled with the weight of her third child. "It's kicking," she muttered.

Scarlett's heart skipped a beat at that, envious that she was of the child flourishing her sister's womb. That Suellen could have as many as she wanted for Will, her husband, to dote upon, while she, Scarlett, would be childless for the rest of her days…Not that she envied the pregnancy, oh no, that was nothing if not inconvenient, but she would have dearly loved to give Rhett more children. But now, to think of that was a worthless expense of energy.

Not that Rhett would be all that heartbroken at the prospect of their marriage never having been…he had wanted a divorce, after all! Not to mention that _he_ had been the one to leave, and _after_ she had confessed her true feelings of undying love. He didn't truly love her any more, she reminded herself, he was merely sad that her leave-taking was not in a manner of his choosing. And he never had liked to share…

But then, she heard a low cry from the other side of the door. Scarlett and Mammy stood up slowly together, but the old black woman urged Scarlett on.

"Gwine in mah lamb," Mammy muttered. "S'aright."

She felt a cold wave of fear pass over her…not that she should have been afraid of him. It was Charles, after all.

He was shaking in Gerald's big bed, covers all thrown off. Mammy had dressed him in one of her father's own thin, cotton nightshirts, which swallowed his thin form. Angry looking bruises covered his arms and legs and his brown eyes were glistening with tears. His head was upturned toward her, and his eyes flickered with recognition, then faded into confusion, and then…he was gone, sinking back into the catatonic state in which she and Ashley had found him in Milledgeville.

"Miz Scarlett," Mammy said softly, sticking her head in the crack of the doorway. "Doc' Meade's here."

The old doctor brushed past Mammy without much ceremony, and Scarlett jumped, unconsciously startled by the interruption.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," she ran her fingers through her hair.

The silver head nodded abruptly, then took Charles's thin wrist in his hand to measure his pulse. "Mr. Benteen explained the urgency of the matter in the telegram. And Ashley reiterated the need for secrecy. And I certainly understand that, Scarlett. Last thing you need is Miss Pittypat down here fluttering around. I take it she's keeping your boy?"

Scarlett nodded. "Yes. Beau too."

"That's good," the doctor said. "Give her and that old darkie of hers something to do. I take it that you're intending to tell Wade about his father?"

Scarlett sighed. "I haven't thought of it yet. I suppose that it'll have to be done…"

"Hmm," Doctor Meade muttered, pulling out his stethoscope. "Extreme malnourishment. Evidence of broken bones. The open sores on his hands and feet…He's not in very good shape. Ashley said that he was _dissociated_?"

"What?"

"He didn't know either of you?"

"Well, he attacked Ashley…"

"I saw the scratch on his face. Maybe he was just mad that Ashley didn't know him…" the doctor chuckled slightly at that, "Ashley's never been the most perceptive…but you knew him, didn't you? I think Rhett might have, too."

Scarlett's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Rhett's name.

"Reckon Rhett had something to say about it. Charles reappearing, I mean. Though he's been scarce enough himself, I can't imagine it'd be much difference…"

She glared at the old man, irritated that he had the audacity to mention it.

"I expect that you won't spread this to everyone in town."

Doctor Meade raised a bushy white eyebrow. "It ain't my business, Scarlett. But this is what I'd do, if I were you: I'd sue for divorce. Charles has been legally declared dead since what, sixty-one? I'll testify that Charles doesn't have possession of his faculties, you can see that he's well taken care of…He's mad, Scarlett, insane. He could even be dangerous, and not even know what he's done. You wouldn't want to subject your sister and her husband and children to that…"

His lips quirked for a moment, as if he was evaluating whether or not his words had had an effect on her.

"There's no telling what he has endured, Scarlett. One hears stories, of course, but—there is no way to render him as he was, not a sure way, I mean."

Scarlett stared at the wooden floor for a moment or two, then back at Charlie, then finally addressed the doctor. "What would Melly do, do you think?"

Doctor Meade closed his eyes and heaved a sigh. Miss Melly was one of the few women in the world he truly respected, even loved, as much as his own daughter. "I expect that Melly would have moved mountains in order to help her brother."

"And how…how would she have helped him?"

"With gentleness. Patience. Both qualities which she possessed in abundance and you and I do not, Scarlett. No, you and I are cold, hard realists."

Scarlett laughed wryly. "I've been patient. For two years. Perhaps this is Melly's way of rewarding me."

"Oh, Scarlett," the doctor rolled his eyes, "I looked for signs from my boys after they were killed in the war. Signs that they were all right, wherever they were. Ain't got one. Melly's safe and sound in Heaven above and you're here. You're right here and you've got two husbands. I'd pick the one with means and with fully functioning mental faculties. Fortunately, that man is one and the same."

Scarlett smirked. "And he left me. But don't repeat that, if you wouldn't mind."

Meade nodded. "Confidentiality, of course. Well, be it as that may, I suppose I see your dilemma. But don't feel some misguided obligation to Miss Melly's memory to keep Charles. He won't be the same man. And he may get hard to handle, maybe even dangerous. At least then, promise me you'll seek help. There are homes, Scarlett, much nicer than the one in Milledgeville."

She bobbed her head in understanding and Meade continued, but gingerly.

"Who else knows of this? Not including the wedding guests, of course. They all thought him mad, my wife included…"

Scarlett thought hard on it. "Ashley and I, of course. Suellen and Will, Rhett, Rhett's cousin, and you."

"That cousin of his is an odd duck," Meade snapped. "Something's wrong with a man who up and marries India after a two week courtship…I don't care how much of a gentleman—"

"I've never met him, before two days ago," Scarlett said truthfully, "Rhett never mentioned him."

"Strange," Meade repeated, "Yes, strange, strange indeed. Well, there's little I can do for him tonight. I can give him a much more thorough examination in the morning. If you wouldn't mind, I wonder if perhaps I might beg a bed? The hurried train ride was rather exhausting for these old bones."

Scarlett blinked sleepily herself. "Yes, of course."

"Lock the door from the outside, Scarlett," Meade reminded her as they both turned to leave.

"Lock it, why?"

His brow creased. "Scarlett, this is not Charles Hamilton who left this place in 1861. This is a madman who has no control…none. I cannot stress enough to you the importance of containment…for everyone's safety."

She looked down at the man in her father's bed, the hollowness of his cheekbones, the blue veins underneath his white, waxy skin. She felt sickened with guilt. Melly's brother couldn't be dangerous.

"Very well," she acquiesced, then closed the door behind her, her mind still fixed upon his face…

**_That same evening…_**

Rhett Butler had never particularly delighted in the dull. And though the company of the four blathering idiots he'd joined at the card table an hour before had fattened his pockets considerably, their senseless, endless, mindless chatter prickled at his patience. Why, their mugs practically screamed out the exact cards they held in their stubby thieving fingers, while they turned the blame for their own idiocy on being light on luck.

What a ridiculous notion.

Being blessed with good fortune had nothing to do with winning at cards. No, it had everything to do with watching for tells, those tiny almost imperceptible flinches, grimaces or smiles, that communicate even the wiliest of liar's honest reaction moments before his mind has the good sense to mask his emotions. Those tells were Rhett's bread and butter—those tells had made him a rich man. He tried to block out his father's voice in the back of his mind, yet it repeated, over and over: _And that, Rhett Kinnicutt, is why you have lost all that you have attained_.

But he was ahead of the game now; for he had developed perception of others to a fine art. Not to say that such a skill was always beneficial to him, for indeed, many times, knowing what another is thinking only boosts supreme self-assuredness to a level that leads one to attempt too great of risks, thinking he has a clear advantage. This forges a path to recklessness ... and sometimes to a blackened eye, a scar upon one's chest, a broken heart, or—much worse.

Much like tonight.

Rhett realized his mistake the moment he won his fourth straight hand, chuckling inwardly as he dragged more than fifty green players across the card table. A wad of crisp greenbacks lay in the center—enough to buy back his mother's ring he had pawned earlier at O'Malley's ten times over—yet he held his countenance impassive. A misstep, for his lack of reaction, which would have warranted from anyone else a hoot at the very least, drew the attention of the other players.

"You're a damned cheat, sir!" The other man's words were slurred, courtesy of the bottle of fine brandy Rhett had paid the waiter to serve to their table time and time again over the past hour.

He couldn't help himself but redirect the attention from his skill at cards to the brandy. "Hardly. I just have a hard head."

"Hard head, my ass. That's my life's savings you've stolen!" This man was a fair bit larger than the first, and Rhett felt it was only wise to refrain from baiting him—but he couldn't resist…

"That is the nature of the game, my friend—"

"I ain't your friend. Here's what I'm figuring. You've colored the cards or numbered them somehow."

He and the other men—for in this particular tavern, Rhett was sure he was the only gentleman present—flipped over their cards and held them up before their crimson-threaded, glazed-over eyes.

"How else would you always know exactly what we're all holding?" The big man came to his feet and was quickly followed by the other players.

As if on cue, they whisked back their coats. The first had a knife, the second and third, revolvers.

_Shit_.

Rhett was a big man by anyone's standard, but his adversaries owned the advantage of numbers—and weapons.

Now to leave_. _Quickly.

He hooked his fingertips beneath the table's edge and flipped it over. Not terribly original, but, hell, he didn't have more than a moment to consider his escape.

The cost would be his ill-gotten gains, but his life was infinitely more precious at the present time. The thugs were fumbling for their dropped weapons, affording Rhett just enough time to whirl around and slip out the door.

The air was icy and for a moment, the thought crossed Rhett's slightly inebriated mind that the fogged plume of his breath would lead them straight to him, wherever he ran, like a trail of breadcrumbs.

He hastened to the top of the lane, where he knew that his carriage would be waiting at the stand to take him back home to Atlanta. That was not to be, not tonight. He could already hear the gamesters bellowing at him from down the hill…and they would not, God willing, know that they were bellowing at Rhett Butler. No, he would be nameless tonight, and without his carriage—and he quickly calculated the distance between Milledgeville and Clayton County…


	8. You Were Mine

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

* * *

><p>As always, <strong>thank you<strong> all so very much for the reviews! If you are so inclined to leave a review, I would be so very grateful …

Happy Thanksgiving, all!

* * *

><p>Chapter 8:<p>

Scarlett had never been particularly religious. Despite the constant teachings drilled into her head by her mother Ellen which had been so faithfully adhered to by her youngest sister, a nun in Savannah, Scarlett had long since given up on any notion she might once have had of God. And yet, in that particular moment, Scarlett prayed. As she walked through the sacred hallways of Tara, she prayed with every ounce of strength her less-than-spiritual soul possessed. _Lord God, please let this all be a bad dream. _

It was not as if bad dreams were out of character for her, particularly over the past two years. There had been plenty of them when Rhett had first left her. They had come first as romantic visions of his return, of him taking her into his arms and explaining how wrong he had been before covering her face with passionate kisses.

But he had never come.

Then, at some undetermined point, her fantastical dreams of romance disappeared entirely from her consciousness, giving way to nightmares so heinous in nature that she had dreamed of either killing him or being killed by him.

But heaven help her, this was no dream. Not even in her wildest dreams could she have imagined something like this.

So she continued to pray, to God or to Melanie or to her mother or whoever would hear her. Was she being led on this path because she had made some macabre mistake in marrying Rhett? Had she lost her child and her best friend and her lover because she had somehow betrayed Charles? She staggered with pain in the hallway, filled with a throbbing pain in her chest - the false mourning of her youth burning at her soul as it never had before. The shock and disbelief of it all continued to hammer her brained as Charles's cries seemed to reverberate off of the very walls. So the laudanum had worn out…She felt a bitter taste rise in her throat. She couldn't handle much more, no by God, she could not.

Doctor Meade emerged from the guest bedroom in his nightshirt and headed down the hallway in the direction of the cries. Scarlett followed him wearily, Mammy lumbering behind her. She rounded the corridor to see Suellen's husband Will holding Charles's limp frame upright as he babbled incoherently. She stopped short of entering the room after the doctor, too tired and overwhelmed to do more.

Suellen had appeared behind her, her colorless face turned slowly toward Charles. "Dear Merciful God," she uttered aloud.

"Get back, Suellen," the doctor ordered, taking the bottle of laudanum in his hand and motioning for Mammy to fetch him a spoon. "You got hold of him, Will?"

Will nodded and spoke, his voice low, "He don't weigh much."

Suddenly, Charles ceased his moans and blinked his runny eyes, his gaze landing on Scarlett. Then she heard it: the dreaded sound of his coherent voice. Something about it was worse than his madness … for it confirmed that somewhere within him, the Charles Hamilton that she had married lingered.

"Let go of me, please."

He tremblingly peeled Will's fingers from his shoulder and stumbled backwards towards the bed.

Breathless, Scarlett waited to see what he would do next. Doctor Meade spoke first, "Charles? Charles, do you know me?"

His expression seemed rattled, and again his lids drooped.

"I don't know."

"Charles Hamilton, I brought you in this world with my own hands, now tell me, boy - do you know me, Gordon Meade, your father's old friend?"

Scarlett felt herself sicken with guilt as Charles fell silent, his face turned up toward the window as he stared unblinking, as if he had fallen asleep with his eyes wide open.

"Oh well," Meade said sadly, "let's get him back in bed. Will, help me, please."

Scarlett felt her sister reach out and grab her arm in a gesture of solidarity. She remembered then, the madness of their Pa. She was still atoning for her part in his death. But Scarlett did not think of that. She couldn't even manage a word of thanks for her sister's understanding, in that moment feeling as powerless as she had the day she had returned home to Tara to find her mother dead and her father mad. She was just as desperate, at least, filled with a unique blend of fear and anger as she felt herself confronted by a flood of memories.

…All of which involved Rhett.

The realization that she had loved him and not Ashley all along coupled with actually falling in love with him and being denied had become a raging, festering wound within her psyche until she felt nearly overcome with disillusionment and hate. And yet, she ached for him…she suspected that she always would.

There came a light tapping at the door, and Doctor Meade pulled the sheet onto Charles to shield him from the chill.

Ashley stuck his blonde head in the portal; he was clad in a dressing gown, his expression rattled.

"Scarlett. I'm afraid that…_he's_ here." His voice was strained, and he briefly closed his eyes before spitting out the rest of his piece. "I told him that it was inappropriate…"

"Who is it?" Suellen demanded. "Its much too late for callers now."

Will took one look at Scarlett, then Ashley. "I take it that Rhett's here. Well, I 'spect he'll be wantin' him a drink. Sue, if you wouldn't mind?"

Scarlett followed wordlessly behind her sister, leaving Mammy, Ashley and Doctor Meade to stare at one another with trepidation.

"I suppose that this was inevitable," the good doctor commented. "You'd better pour us both a drink, Ashley. I fear that we'll need it before this night is over."

Mammy let out an unintelligible grunt, as if to let him know that her old ears were as functional as ever and that she disapproved of his comment.

"You probably need one too, Mammy. Living with them for all those years."

"Well suh," Mammy heaved a loud sigh. "Ah don' reckon Ah'd turn it down."

The doctor exchanged a dry smile with Ashley. "Dare I detect the sounds of claws sharpening and teeth gnashing?"

Ashley rolled his eyes. "I'll bring three glasses…"

With a flurry of her skirts, Scarlett marched down the hallway and glared down the stairwell toward the foyer.

"God's nightgown, Rhett! What do you think you're doing?"

He turned and focused his black eyes hard on hers. He took a deep drink of the port that Suellen had poured for him before setting the glass on a side table.

"Perhaps your sister might allow us use of a private room so that we might converse privately?"

Scarlett narrowed her eyes, but Suellen was willing to oblige.

"I was just going to bed," she muttered, then marched up the stairs past Scarlett. "Will and I will be up here."

Scarlett set her jaw in resolute firmness as she descended.

"We can talk in Mother's office."

Rhett opened his mouth as if to say something snide, but he quickly closed it and allowed her to lead him to the adjoining room. Closing the door behind her, she stood in front of it and met his gaze without betraying any emotion.

"Well?"

He attempted to laugh, but it came out as a ragged choking noise. "You never cease to amaze me, Scarlett. Even when I think that I have dissected that shrewd little brain of yours to its core, I find that I have barely scratched the surface. But I have known you long enough to know that there has never been a charitable, kind, or concerned bone in your body. And yet, you walk away from your commitment to me and the supposed _love_ you had claimed to have developed for the charms of a man who escaped from a mental institution."

"Who happens to be my husband—"

"Allegedly—"

"Well just what was I supposed to do? You are just as much to blame for this as anyone."

He let out a roaring laugh at that. "And how is that, my dear?"

"Well for starters, you _left_ the children and I for the better part of two years."

"Guilty as charged. But I hardly left you wanting for anything, that much was evident by the extravagant bills I receive monthly and continue to pay."

If Scarlett had been slightly more perceptive, she might have noticed the pained expression that appeared on his face at the mention of money, but the subject had piqued her interest to such a level that it had no effect upon her.

"Well had you not volunteered marriage, you would never have had to, would you?"

"Well, it's too late to take back my proposal at this point. Of course, you've already raised one husband from the dead, perhaps you can put another in the ground."

His insult was not lost upon her.

"Tell me, my pet. Is this rush to come to the aid of the unfortunate Charles simply another way to spit in my eye?"

"What do you think?"

"Hmm. By the looks of you, I could almost believe your sincerity."

"You wouldn't understand. You could never even begin to understand."

"I seem to recall another folly which you were oh-so-keenly pursuing that I _could never_ understand."

"You have no right to compare this to that. When you know that I have no choice!"

"There are always choices, Scarlett. Now, how much will it take for you to make the right one?"

"Are you attempting to bribe me?"

"It worked before."

Scarlett raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall you holding up your end of the deal."

He approached her where she stood, a look of genuine desire written all over his face. Her mouth curved unconsciously as he traced lightly the graceful curve of her bare neck, a chill shooting down her spine. His lips parted and she could hear a little groan.

Once, she would have given anything to find herself in such a position. _Once_.

A month ago. A week ago. Two days ago.

She closed her eyes as she felt his hand in her hair, entwining a strand around his finger…and then she drew back. Her chin thrust upward and her eyes, which conveyed shock and confusion from their depths, frantically searched him.

"No," she finally said. "I can't, Rhett. I just…can't."

"You don't want me." It did not come out as a question. His hands gripped tightly around her wrists. "You need me."

An unfamiliar gleam was in his eyes, was it…desperation?

She struggled again, her own eyes filling with tears. "Let me go."

"You needed my money. Not me. I suppose I've always known that. I allowed myself to become deluded by your continued resistance to the idea of divorce. I should have known that your infatuation with me was of a similar nature to that you held for Ashley Wilkes…not so long-lasting though, if I do say so."

"No," she was moaning. "No, no, no."

For a moment, he could have almost believed that the emotion which contorted her pretty face could have been love…but it was Scarlett…and she had just proven that she was wholly incapable of truly loving anyone.

"Well, what do you hope to accomplish by this idiocy, Scarlett? Do you imagine somehow salvaging his sanity?"

"I…I don't know."

"And for what? So you can spend the rest of your life as Mrs. Charles Hamilton? Or do you intend to get by on the charity of your brother-in-law?"

She pushed away from him angrily. "Tara is half mine."

"Tara?" he smirked. "This place will crumble to dust before a one legged farmer, Ashley, Charles and a handful of women can call it a moneymaker."

She took a ragged breath. She neither shrilled nor ranted nor cried. The look upon her face oddly disconcerted him, so impenetrable was her expression.

"Scarlett—"

"Don't."

"Don't do this." Rhett paused his speech and pulled her close to him again. "You think that you owe him something."

"I destroyed him. Just as I destroyed Frank and Melly and Ashley and Bonnie and you."

"The war destroyed him," Rhett sighed. "I won't give up. You'll eventually grow tired of this encumbrance. You're too practical to allow this new obsession for self-sacrifice to overcome you completely…and you'll need me again."

She waited for him to finish, barely breathing in anticipation. Surely he would say it, those three words that she wanted to hear more than anything in the world. How many years since they had emerged from his lips?

He released her. Then pushed past her and opened the door. Doctor Meade, Ashley, Will Benteen, and Mammy were standing there, attempting to look down at the floor innocently.

"How is Mr. Hamilton, Doctor?" Rhett asked, his voice silky, "Mr. Benteen said that he attempted to fly like a bird from the second story window?"

Doctor Meade heaved a sigh. "He's stable for the night. Poor man."

Rhett's keen eyes focused on the scratches on Ashley's cheek. "That looks painful… Mammy? What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Ah's not gwine say nuttin' Mist' Rhett."

Will drew in a breath before addressing him. "That horse you rode in on ain't gonna make it, Rhett. I've never seen an animal so ragged. How far'd you ride?"

"Milledgeville." Rhett said shortly.

"Damnation."

"What called for such haste?" Ashley inquired, his concerned eyes falling over Scarlett, who was standing silently behind Rhett.

"Private matter." Rhett sighed. "Well, I suppose that I'm stuck here. For the night, at least…if you all are agreeable."

Mammy let out a humph of disapproval and Ashley rolled his eyes. Doctor Meade looked prepared to flee at the first sign of trouble.

"If you don't mind sharin' quarters with the Doc," Will said, his tone guarded. "I'd be proud to have you. Scarlett?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Mammy," Will said, "I'll take first watch over Charles. You get some rest and show Rhett to his room, will you?"

"Yessuh, Mist' Will," Mammy muttered. "Yessuh, Ah will."

"I'd best be off too," Doctor Meade said awkwardly, "yes, yes, check on Charles…"


	9. Just A Bit Like Me

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

* * *

><p>As always, <strong>thank you<strong> so very much to the reviewers!

* * *

><p>Chapter 9:<p>

Scarlett had awoken early the next morning, and she was already headed downstairs when her curiosity had incited her to linger a moment outside of the room which Rhett and Doctor Meade were sharing before being startled by the good doctor himself, who was emerging from Charles's room across the hall.

He straightened his spine and put a finger to his lips. "Quiet now, Scarlett. He's asleep, and I'd like to keep him that way. I'm going to have to ask Will to go into town for me and send a wire to my wife. I don't dare leave while he's in this state. Nothing but babies being born this time of year anyway and the women can…what is it, Scarlett?"

Her mouth was forming into a tight pucker of distress.

"Tell me the truth, please. Is he ever going to get any better?"

The old man sighed. "I'm just not sure, Scarlett. There are moments of clarity, certainly, and he seems to remember full well who he is and what has happened to him…others…well, again, I'm just not certain."

_I'm just not certain_. The phrase tapped on some familiarity within her memory. A barefooted child had stood in her bedroom doorway and watched her mother leave in the middle of the night to visit a sickbed.

_Will all be well, Mrs. O'Hara? God willing, Mr. O'Hara. I'm just not certain, at this point. Scarlett, darling, go back to bed, please. _

"I should go in," Scarlett said, approaching the door.

Doctor Meade stepped back, the key in his hand. "Do what you think best, Scarlett. But I'll stand guard outside the door, just in case."

"Fiddle-dee-dee. He can't hurt me if he's sleeping, can he? Now go to bed, Doctor Meade. I'll be fine."

"Very well then," he handed the key over to her. "Yell if you need anything."

"I will," she assured him, then, after a moment's hesitation, entered the room and shut the door behind her.

"I'll open these shutters," she muttered. "No sense in keeping you locked up in the dark." The room illuminated by the dawn light, Scarlett realized that the bed was devoid of its occupant. She found him in the corner furthest from the door, his knees drawn up to his chest.

"Charlie?" she said hesitantly.

He did not respond. She crouched down, keeping an arm's length between herself and him, uncertain if touching him would trigger another fit.

"It's me, Charlie. It's Scarlett. Look at me, Charlie. Remember me?"

He did not even blink.

"Let me help you," she tried again. "Please?"

She held a hand out to him.

"You have to remember, Charlie ... you must remember me, and Ashley. And your Aunt Pittypat too. And Uncle Peter, and Melly!"

He seemed coil more tightly and began to tremble.

Scarlett could feel her own voice shaking. "Melly loved you, Charlie…she loved you very much."

"Melly?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Melly, are you there?"

Scarlett was barely breathing. Surely he didn't think…

"Melly?" he cried, desperation in his voice.

"Here, sweetheart," Scarlett reached out her hand again, which he grabbed eagerly and kissed.

"I'm dead then. At last, we're together again."

"You're not dead, Charlie. What makes you say that?"

"I knew you would come for me. I knew that you'd not abandon me. Remember when we were children, Melly? I was eight and you were four - and I was frightened, Melly. Aunt Pitty had gone out for the evening and I was left in the dark. You found me, Melly. Melly, I've been in the dark for so long…so long…and I was hungry and cold and they...they never stopped."

There was silence. Scarlett was sitting there, willing herself not to say anything to upset him.

"Melly?" panic was mounting in his voice. "Melly? You haven't gone. You haven't left me again? Please?"

"No," Scarlett croaked. "I'm…here."

"You cannot leave me, Melly. Not again."

"I won't leave you."

"Have you spoken with Mother and Father? Are they well? Is Father…is he proud of me?"

_His father. Henry had complained that Pitty had made a sissy out of a soldier's son. _

"He's very proud, sweetheart. He's so proud."

Relief was shining in Charles's eyes. "So he's not ashamed of me? That I didn't die for the Cause?"

"No. Of course not. You couldn't help that you survived."

_I couldn't help that I thought you were dead…_

"I wish I had died, Melly. I wish I had. Better dead than what they did to me."

"What did they do, sweetheart?"

Tears filled his eyes. "T-t-terrible things. I dare not tell you. I fought back and I-I-I…Melly, I prayed for death."

"Who did this to you? Who hurt you, Charlie?"

He shook his head, biting down hard on his lower lip, enough to draw blood.

"What happened, Charlie?"

"No. I can't remember."

"Try to remember."

"Melly, I can't tell you. It would kill me to tell you."

"Please…"

"No. No. I will not! I want to go home now, Melly. I want to back with you and Mother and Father. Will you take me with you, Melly? Melly? Melly, where are you? Melly! Do not leave me here. Not here. Please!"

"Shh…Charlie…It's Scarlett. Melly's gone, but I'm here…it's Scarlett."

"What the devil is this racket in here?" Rhett's dark head appeared in the doorway.

_Damn it! _She had forgotten to lock it behind her.

It was a catastrophic moment for him to have entered, the dreamlike state had passed and Charles was completely lucid - he exploded from the corner and lunged at Rhett, knocking him to the floor with the intensity of a seasoned pugilist. The two men hit the floor and flailed about for nearly thirty seconds before Rhett caught the smaller man's wrists and pinned him to the floor beneath him. Scarlett could feel her heart thumping madly in her chest as she stared down at Charles's tearstained face, his wide eyes looking up at her with pleading.

A sound escaped his lips that was inhuman, then finally an entreaty: "Please…I beg you…let me go home to my wife."

Rhett's eyes widened. "Look. I'll release you if you promise not to attack me again, understand? Stop it, Charles, stop fighting me."

"Let me go."

"Let him up, Rhett."

He glanced up at Scarlett incredulously. "I just saved your life—"

"He was fine until you showed up and startled him!"

"Scarlett, stop this madness before you're killed. I mean it! I don't want to see you die in this…this madman's hands!"

"Let him go for God's sake! Rhett, you're hurting him!"

"Let him go so that he can attack me again?"

"Let me go," Charles repeated, his voice monotone.

"Uncle Rhett!" Ella Lorena had shown up in the doorway. "Uncle Rhett, I knew you would come, I knew it! Uncle Rhett, why are you holding onto Wade's daddy like that?"

Rhett sighed heavily and, sensing that the fight had left Charles, turned his wrists loose and allowed him to sink down onto the floor before picking him up easily and sitting him back on the bed like a sack of potatoes.

"Ella, get back to bed this instant," Scarlett was saying.

"It's morning, Mother!" the ginger-haired child protested. "Uncle Rhett, tell Mother."

"You are not Uncle Rhett's concern!" Scarlett snapped. "Listen to me, Ella Lorena, I've told you that you are not to come down here and-"

"She asked us a question, Scarlett. Don't you think we should give her answer?"

"Certainly not - she's…she doesn't understand - and I'll thank you not tell me how to manage _my _children."

"Come here, Ella," Rhett beckoned the child and lifted her gently in his strong arms. "Now listen to me closely, this man here, he's not really Wade's daddy. Wade's daddy doesn't exist anymore, not in his head."

"But, he's sitting there…"

"Yes, but he doesn't know that he is, which means that he's not really there."

"I don't understand, Uncle Rhett. My daddy's dead, but he's not sitting there. He's at the cem-e-tary."

"That's right, he sure is, honey. But see, this man is dead on the inside. Does that make sense? See, he's not really Wade's daddy at all."

The child shrugged, her seven-year-old brain having exhausted the topic.

"Wade doesn't need another daddy."

"What do you mean, honey?"

She looked up at him, eyes big as coins. "He's got you, Uncle Rhett!"

He gave her a quick kiss, then cleared his throat. "Go downstairs and get yourself something to eat, Ella. Your mother and I need to be alone for a moment."

Scarlett's face was turned away from him as Ella left the room.

"She's right, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Scarlett said, her voice clipped. "You never gave Ella so much as a glance and now you—"

"Damn you, Scarlett!" he snapped, grabbing hold of her arm. "I love that child and Wade Hampton too and if you question me on that point again so help me God I'll-" He reined in his temper before he actually slapped her to prove his point, releasing her and moving to the opposite end of the room.

Charles showed no sign of movement on the bed, and Scarlett put a hand on his chest to ascertain that his heart was still beating.

"I'm going to go back to Atlanta today. And I'm going to take Ella with me. And she and Wade and I will make a short trip to Savannah and Charleston…maybe by the time we return you'll have forgotten this…this insanity!"

"You will not take my child out of this house. Nor will you take Wade from Aunt Pitty's! You're not their father!"

"I'm as good as, and clearly a better parent than a mother who does not even consider their own happiness. In your haste to balm your own conscience, my pet, you've forgotten about the only positive outcome of this union…Wade Hampton. But I've not forgotten."

"Oh go on with it, won't you. How am I to know that you won't swoop them away so that I can never see them again? That you won't turn them against me and make them hate me like you tried to do with Bonnie?"

He took a deep breath.

"Like it or not my dear, your children love you. No matter how little you deserve it. But they love me as well. I don't believe that even you can dispute that…"


	10. Standing By the Bedside

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>*There is a shameless literary reference in this chapter, which I'm sure close readers will be able to spot - nothing like borrowing from a classic*<p>

Reviews are gratifying and I **sincerely** thank all of you that continue to submit your feedback!

* * *

><p>Chapter 10:<p>

Lifting her head, Scarlett stared into Rhett's widened black eyes. "And you are a heartless bastard. Now get out of this room before I have you thrown out. No, not just out of this room, get out of this house, off this property and out of my sight, forever!"

"Or what, pray tell?"

"I'll make you regret that you were ever born. And if you ever threaten to take Wade and Ella away from me I'll do it, too. I'm capable of it, Rhett Butler. More than you know."

"I've already done my share of regretting when it comes to you, Scarlett," he declared, breathlessly and with a twinge of respect…or was it fear? "But you're as mad as he is to put yourself and them through this…hell."

"Stay in this house a moment longer and see how mad I get."

"Fine, I'll leave you to your heart's content. The two of you deserve one another."

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She heard him bark an order at Mammy or Pork before another door slammed. So he hadn't left the property. Not just yet, anyway.

The desire to fight with him having left her and feeling utterly miserable, Scarlett returned her attention to Charles, who seemed to have been lulled back into the deepest slumber. He looked little more than a frail child, the sheet molded to his gaunt figure. The sight of him made her chest grow tight. So little of the boy she had once known remained…he would have been better off dying, better than this!

She closed her eyes until the anger had settled, somewhere within the endless abyss of her emotions before looking at him again. His face was turned away from her, but his eyes were open again, big doe eyes reminiscent of Melly's—as though Melly was looking down upon her, reminding her of the duty she owed him….and Melly herself.

The obvious need of her friend for retribution, for atonement, was not lost upon Scarlett's Catholic sensibilities, no matter how faded. She had stolen what had belonged to Melanie for years, now she was reaping the consequences.

She moved over to the window and thrust it open, drinking in the air in hopes that it would assuage some of the overwhelming guilt that was threatening to overcome her entirely. The wind arose, as if it was responding directly to the turbulence of Scarlett's own emotions, the tops of the pine trees whispering their secrets and sending shivers down her spine.

If only Rhett would just leave so she wouldn't be forced to face him time and time again. But he was not a man to back down in the face of adversity…nor was he a man to cease in defending what was rightfully his, and she was, in his eyes, his. And he'd stand toe to toe with the devil himself to avoid being cheated out of his due—yet, in that moment, Scarlett felt more evil than even the devil…

_**The next morning**_

Rhett had slept on and off throughout the night, and while he tried to reassure himself that Doctor Meade's snoring was the cause of his unrest, he could not disengage the image of Scarlett sleeping in a chair at Charles's bedside from his thoughts. He awoke at dawn, his neck and back stiff, to find none other than Scarlett herself standing over him with a breakfast tray, her gaze fixed on the pallet on the floor where the good doctor had been only moments before.

"I thought you were leaving." she said.

There was little of the previous evening's emotion written upon her face. She was wearing her dressing gown, a silk creation of emerald green, and her long black hair was catching the light in such a way that it looked as glossy as a raven's wing. As usual, she smelled of some strange combination of magnolia and lavender.

"Where's Doctor Meade?" she snapped.

"He went for a walk or to otherwise relieve himself," Rhett replied, groggy and aching and hard with desire.

"Oh," she said, clearly irritated. "Well, you might as well take this, then."

Rhett took the tray from her, then watched with amusement as she floated to a chair and gracefully dropped into it. Good. Perhaps she had come to a decision that would put an end to this madness for good and all.

"The weather's turning rotten. You'd best leave before the roads become impassable. Will says we're in for quite a thunderstorm."

Rhett sighed. "I'm not particularly keen about riding out into one of those. Besides, I'm tired. I don't feel well. I slept on the floor, and what little amount of sleep I managed was interrupted by the snoring of the illustrious Doctor."

She giggled in spite of herself. "Well, would you have preferred to share with Ashley?"

Perched on her chair, she looked towards him, waiting for him to take her barb.

"No, Scarlett. I am content with my accommodations for the present moment."

"So, I take it that you are _not_ leaving?"

Light rain began to patter against the windows and he stood up to ascertain that the window was securely closed.

"Rhett?" came her tiny voice, her confident demeanor all but disappeared.

He was suddenly crushed by the weight of his despair at the thought of losing her and his sense of helplessness. He moved to the chair and dropped to his knees.

"I'm sorry," he offered. He turned his face slightly, unwilling to allow her to see the raw emotion he was delving through.

"Oh Rhett, it's all my fault," she began to sob, "you would have had to have known him. He was so pure. Too kind and good for me, just like Melly. And I think that I, in some way, have brought this on him…"

Her voice finally broke, and she burst into tears. He swallowed hard.

"I can't lose you again."

"What?" she sniffed.

"I refuse to lose you again. Not this time, Scarlett. Charles can't be helped at this point. You must understand that."

"You're right. He's dying, Doctor Meade said. He's given up. If I could only reach him, if only to apologize, but I don't know how."

"Come here." He extended his hand. "Come here. My poor pet. Come down here. That's right. Lay your head here on my lap, like you used to when we were honeymooning in New Orleans. Remember how we made love all night? You had never known that sort of pleasure from a man, Scarlett. You were made for that. That's right, honey. Close your eyes and tell me your remember."

"Oh Rhett," she whispered, drifting into the darkness…

**...**

_Charlie, you must wake up, darling._

"I can't, Melly. Please, just let me sleep. I'm so very tired."

_I told you, you must wake up. _

"I can't."

_You cannot will yourself to die, Charlie. You have to fight. You must._

"I don't belong in this world, Melly. It's too frightening."

_I cannot help you if you won't help yourself._

"I want to die, Melly. Then we can be together."

_Since when are you so afraid, Charlie? What are you afraid of?_

"Life, I suppose."

_Many things have changed, Charlie. _

"Not for you, Melly. Only for me. Charles Hamilton is gone, I tell you. He's gone…"

**...**

"He's gone, Scarlett, gone!"

Ashley's cry wedged through Scarlett's own murky confusion and thrust her back into reality like a shower of icy water.

Ashley was standing at the doorway flapping his long arms in agitation, his face contorted with fear and despair.

"He's gone. Charlie, he's gone!"

She disentangled her hands from Rhett's and jumped to her feet.

"What the hell are you saying, he's gone?" Rhett said with annoyance as he rose behind her.

"The door was unlocked." Ashley explained. "It was wide open. Doctor Meade and Will were downstairs having coffee, Mammy and your sister and the children haven't even risen yet. But Pork and I have looked all over, he's not in the house, Scarlett."

She stumbled through the room, her mind still half asleep. "Who left the door unlocked?"

She bolted from the room, Ashley at her heels, and stormed from the house out into the inclement weather. Where to go? Where to begin?

Rain was coming down in sheets now, and her hope of finding Charles was fading with each resounding clap of thunder and ensuing lightning strike. The wind was clawing at her face, forcing her to struggle for each breath.

"_Scarlett!"_

Rhett's calls pounded inside her head and her heart, her fear mounting.

"Scarlett!"

The reality of Charles's vulnerability was not lost on her. But where to look? Where? What if they found him dying or already dead? Could she ever forgive herself?

"Charlie!" she screamed again, helplessly, desperately. Ashley had long since disappeared from her sight, presumably to search the barn and old slave cabins. Finally, she heard the sound of a man's boots splashing in the rain.

She ran toward the sound, but tripped on a gnarled, exposed tree root. The muscles in her legs were burning as she attempted to pull herself upright, but suddenly, his arms were around her.

"Rhett, oh Rhett!"

"Scarlett! You're alright. Oh, God. I thought you'd…Here, take it easy…Let me carry you back up the house, that's right…"

**...**

As a child, the man had often snuck away from his Aunt Pitty's protective eye and wandered up the deep creek beds which formed the outlying areas of the great plantation owned by his cousin. He sat there again, sitting Indian-style and stoop shouldered, hidden behind the trees, watching the man swoop up his wife…

How he envied him. Yes, envied. He watched as the silhouette of the man moved back towards the house, carrying her in his arms.

He would be back, one day. And he would have his vengeance for the life that was stolen from him.

***END PART 1***


	11. Long Roads

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>Reviews and messages are so much fun to receive and I <strong>sincerely<strong> thank all of you for reading! Please continue to submit your feedback!

*I hope that you enjoy - Part II*

* * *

><p>Chapter 11:<p>

The man felt himself being hoisted against the warm body of another, his legs having given out long before. Out the corner of his eye he could see a cabin, little more than a shack, lights beaming from the solitary window. The man who was carrying him let out a loud holler and the door immediately opened, revealing a mulatto woman with long black hair and deep-set eyes.

"Jesus, Paul. Whatta ya brought now?"

"Quiet Tish. Take and set the fire, won't ya? Boy be half dead. Dig up that stew we was ta serve at supper…thin's he is…reckon he could take and do with a lick, yes sah."

Tish looked past Paul and her eyes widened noticeably as she regarded the man up and down before giving a sharp nod.

"Verra well. Best stick 'im down on the floor. I'll see 'bout all else's wrong with 'im."

She whipped a blanket from the cot against the back wall of the room and roughly shoved in front of Paul and motioned towards the roaring hearth.

"Put 'im down. Bring that cot closer. Needs the warmth, that's sure. Lawd, this boy looks like a drowned rat. Lawd boy, man of your age oughta know better than to go traipsin' round in weather like this in aught but his nightshirt. Are you cracked, boy? Nothin' happenin' up in that there noggin?"

"Watch yer mouth, Tish. He could be rich off. Wouldn't hurt, eh? Iffen we was ter return him to his people. Folks pay good for their addlebrained boy ter come on home safe and sound."

She stuck her hands on her wide hips. "Go tah Halifax, Paul."

He gave a loud humph of dismissal. "You never know. Divil take you. Wouldn't hurt ter dream, eh?"

"Dreams. Bah. Ain't nobody in this county which has got money, Paul. Nope. More'n likely a drifter. Prob'ly cracked his skull."

She leaned down at the unconscious man with a twinge of contempt in her squinted eyes. "You alright, boy? Gimme that there coffee, Paul. Quick like."

"Yes ma'am." Paul cackled as he did as he was bidden, adding a mocking bow and flourish for good measure.

"Shut yer trap, asshole."

"S-S-Scarlett?"

"What's he say?"

"You speak boy? Git him up, Paul."

With Paul's help, the man attempted to sit up, though was quickly overcome by exhaustion.

"S-S-Scarlett?" he repeated.

"She ain't here, hon. You know somebody named Scarlett? Damn me, Paul. He's askin' for somethin'…or someone. Some folks might know him. 'Member them Coopers? Mist' Davis, Miz Honey and them young un's? Miz Honey's once quality-like. From 'Lanta. Go on up to town and see if Mist' Davis'll come. Maybe we's can help this poor thin'."

"Mist' Davis ain't got no money, Tish. Poor divil loss his arm in the war and always laid up with gout."

"Git yer lazy carcass out that door and into town. And don't you stop at the saloon, neither…"

**...**

_**One Year Later**_

"You hand me dat there gown, Prissy, wothless chile. And them stockin's as well. She's a-shiverin' cold. Mah lamb? Ah's here. Ole Mammy's not gwine leave you. Legs thin as willer wisps. Lawd-a-mighty."

Upon fetching the flannel gown and leggings for the sniveling Prissy, Rhett Butler sat down at a chair at his wife's bedside, watching Mammy tend to his wife with a gentleness that never seemed to fit with her otherwise gruff personality. She poured warm water from the pitcher into a hand bowl and wiped the sweat away from Scarlett's face and neck.

"Will she be alright?" Rhett asked wearily, turning away from the scene with elbows on his knees. He stared down at the floor between his feet as though he wished to disappear in it.

"Ah's seen the like of it 'fore, Mist. Rhett. Miss Scarlett, she want this chile bad. She won' gib up. No sir."

"She won't eat."

"We's just gwine see 'bout dat. Ole Mammy ain't never failed, suh, not since she put her first pair of diapers on her. Tha's right, Miss Scarlett, Mammy's gwine have you right as rain in no time."

Rhett opened his mouth to argue, but all the positive energy he had felt at Mammy's arrival from Tara had fled him the moment he had seen how desperate Scarlett's situation had become. He felt his gut clench as she let out another low moan.

"If you's hungry, Mist' Rhett, gwine down and ask Lou to fix you somethin' ter eat. Ah know you's been sittin' here for hours."

"Days," he muttered, standing unsteadily, his gaze still locked upon Scarlett's pale face. "A few more hours won't kill me."

Mammy muttered something under her breath as she continued to gently run the washcloth over Scarlett's arms and legs. "Po' lamb. Mammy's here, lamb."

"You doin' alright, Mist' Rhett?"

"Well as to be expected, with her in this state," he snapped back.

"Ah ain't talkin' bout that, Mist' Rhett. Ah's askin' how you is. Ah's makin' sure mah lamb ain't in no trouble."

"What makes you think that?"

"Ah's in Charl'ston 'stead of Atlanta, ain't Ah? Ah's heard dat big ole house sold las' month. Yessah. And Ah sees Mist' Gerald and Miss Ellen's house go ter rack and ru'n, and Mist' Will's workin' hard as he can. And Mist' Ashley, he livin' with Miss Pitty, and Ah's heard them lumber mills sold too."

"You miss nothing, do you Mammy?"

"Nosuh. And Pork's a-tellin' me dat Mist' Rhett's as po' as a beggar. Sellin' his mama' silver." She stood erect and made a noise that dared him to challenge her.

"Listen here, Mammy-mammy or not, you are standing in my house and by God you will treat me with respect!"

"Ah's 'pectin' you, Mist' Rhett. Ah loves you as well as mah lamb. But it's done kilt me ter hear it, Mist' Rhett. What's gwine wrong?"

She looked away from him at that, her wide dark eyes pooling with tears. She dabbed the corner of her apron to them and took a quivering breath.

"I have it under control," he said, staring at her profile. "I'm…I'm sorry, Mammy."

She shook her head, bent, and examined the pale skin of Scarlett's lower belly, only slightly swelled with the growing child within.

"There's plenty which wo'se off, suh. Long as mah lamb…you just gwine down and get you a bite, Mist' Rhett. Ah's here with mah lamb."

He nodded in understanding, then moved from the bedroom, discovering the door already opened. Ella was standing there, dressed in thin, colorless muslin, her brother Wade by her side. His gaze fixed to their stoic countenances, which, however briefly, had succumbed to the grief which they must have both felt in their young hearts.

"Mother's alright? Mammy's going to make her well again?" Wade queried in a small voice.

Rhett sighed. "Of course she is. She's already much better…or I wouldn't have left."

Ella nodded. "We must say another decade of the rosary, Wade. It's working, see?"

Her brother nodded, then exchanged a glance at Rhett. "Sure, Ella. We can say another."

Rhett watched them disappear into their respective rooms in his mother's house, and was filled with a sense of awe and wonder at them both. For all the tragedies that had been so unjustly inflicted upon their family, it had left no bitterness on either of their souls.

It was just after dawn when Rhett awoke to the sound of laughter outside his bedroom. He hurriedly bolted across the hall toward the bed where he had left Scarlett in Mammy's care hours before. It was empty. An emptied bowl of broth was sitting on the nightstand. Wade and Ella were seated on the floor, directing their fond gazes toward their mother, who was sitting in a rocker. It took a moment to recognize her. Gone was the pale, weakened woman he had left. Beneath Mammy's gentle ministrations over the last hours, she had become herself again. She had been dressed in a soft blue cotton nightdress, and her eyes were bright and steady. Her soft curling bangs were drifting over here forehead, nearly to her eyes.

Mammy beamed, and Wade and Ella smiled and nodded amongst themselves.

"Rhett!" Scarlett said, her voice hoarse.

His face froze and his cheeks were flushed as he fell to his knees at her feet.

"I thought I'd lost you."

"And mah lamb ain't gwine have none of that, no sah." Mammy declared, her eyes twinkling.

"No, she wouldn't," Scarlett smiled. "Mammy wouldn't let me either. Oh Rhett, I must have hit my head when I fainted. I didn't remember the trip here at all."

"You've…" he began, his voice quivering. "You've had a fever. Doctor Meade, well, he didn't want you moved but…"

Mammy's shrewd attention was focused upon Scarlett's face. She had clearly been trying to process the information and it was not any of it pleasant. So she _had_ been sick in Atlanta…and Doctor Meade knew it. And Rhett had moved her anyway. Something strange was happening; Mammy could feel that much in her bones. Money troubles? That was possible, certainly. But the Butler estate seemed as well furnished as ever. No, there had to be something else…Mammy attempted to put her finger on it…or at least, she would attend to it after Scarlett was safely delivered from her illness and God willing, a healthy child.

"If anyone could bring her around, it'd be you, Mammy," came Rhett's voice.

"Oh Rhett! You really didn't need to send for Mammy. Although I must say, I'm terribly glad you did. Wade, Ella, you both need to get some sleep, else you'll be off getting sick too!"

"Yes, Mother," they chorused, Wade in his prepubescent, cracking voice and Ella in her youthful shrill. "Goodnight, Uncle Rhett." They turned to find him smiling fondly into his wife's eyes. His days' worth of labor showed in weary creases in his face.

"I love you, Scarlett O'Hara…and don't you doubt that…don't you ever doubt that…"

**. . . **

The man sipped his drink, his gaze shifting from one bounder to the other. Suspicion crawled in his spine. He knew them too well, and he knew the lengths they would go for the extra cash. He had counted on it in the past.

"Did Martin send you here to ferret out information about me?" he asked, his voice soft and threatening.

"You know us better than that. We would never betray you, never."

"Someone alerted Rhett of my presence in the city. He's gone. The house is sold and boarded up."

"Everybody and their dog knows that Butler's strapped for cash. Too much time in the gamblin' halls. He gave up his position at the bank to stay home with his wife and he's in debt up to his ass with the Yankees. Like we all are…If they're threatenen' him with collection same as they are the rest of us, he'd do just about anything ter get 'is hands on that cash, even sell that big ole house. Wonder who bought it, anyway?"

The man gave the previous speaker a sardonic smile. "I did."

"You? Congratulations. Sir. What you gonna do with a big ole house like that, anyway?"

"Burn it to the ground."

The humor disappeared from the other man's face.

"What do you figure on doin' now? About the woman, I mean. Since nobody knows that you've come back 'cept for us?"

"I'm not certain. But I'll tell you this: Kinnicutt Martin had better stay away. From Charleston. From Rhett. And from me." He cut his gaze into that of the other. "You might pass on the word should you happen to bump into him on your road back to hell."


	12. Hole In My Head

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>There was a little confusion regarding the previous chapter … I hope this one resolves some of it, particularly the last section of dialogue. I apologize for the lack of clarity, and hope that this chapter provides some, particularly as to the matter of Rhett's finances and Charlie's whereabouts…<p>

*Your reviews give me a great deal of insight and (hopefully) help me tell a better tale. Please enjoy, and keep the feedback coming!*

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><p>Chapter 12:<p>

The man awoke suddenly from a strange and disturbing dream, the same as always, the sound of the cannon, a pit, bottomless and fiery, a face looking back at him, twisted and tormented. But there was something else, something even more disquieting.

Someone had shouted his name.

The clock chimed in the distance, echoing through the house. Hours yet remained before dawn. He rose from the bed and moved over to the window. A fire! It lit the gloomy night, a pale gold veil shimmering over the horizon.

_Hurry, Charlie!_

The voice inside his head again. He spun and searched the tent, dark but for the solitary lamp. Cold touched his face, as if from a wind. It crept up his legs and his spine and whispered into his ear: _Hurry! Hurry, Charlie, hurry!_

He dressed quickly, led by some instinct of dread that sliced through him. Something was terribly wrong, something had happened. He felt it in the very pit of his stomach, unnerving, rattling.

He emerged from the makeshift tent, breathing hard, still recovering from his case of pneumonia. He gasped in the frigid air, which made his lungs burn.

Dawn emerged from the sullen clouds.

_Run, Charlie_.

"Sir. Sir?" The maid placed a hand on his arm, drawing him back the reality which was at hand. He was sitting before the fire in a ladder-back chair, staring into the hearth.

"Sir? Is everything alright?"

"Fine," he responded. "Thank you, Agnes."

"Sir," she bobbed a curtsey, then exited, shutting the door tightly behind her.

The wind thundered violently from the north, cold and roaring amid the cracks and crevices of the window. He had only been in Charleston for two days, but that had been long enough. Moments of clarity had been utterly shattered by moments of absolute darkness. He suspected that his confused had stemmed from some latent injury to the head, although he knew it to be far deeper than that.

He had managed to survive the last year of frustration by occupying himself with the pressing matter of identifying himself, no easy task for a man with no past, present, or future. But he had happened along kind strangers, who had rescued him from the storm and sent him on to Atlanta. Once there, he had stumbled upon a sporting house, and he had joined the madam who owned the placed in depleting her stock of liquor and played cards until he grew too stupid with boredom to hold open his eyes. And while he lay lounging in the bed of Clarissa, his lady fair for the evening, he realized that there had to be a reason that the madam afforded him all the free libation and entertainment he desired. It was her motives he didn't fully trust. After all, what madam would waste her time and money on a client with nothing to offer without good reason? She didn't fool him for a second.

When he heard the name Butler for the first time, he recognized its familiarity. He had some connection to his past, a connection he could not fully appreciate. Whatever his purpose, he had gotten to her, bribed her, bought her off somehow…And he knew that this Butler person was close by, waiting like some wily fox for him to figure it all out and waiting for the madam, a Mrs. Watling, to return to him whatever information he needed to initiate whatever scheme he had undertaken to further ruin his life...

What surprised him was the whores' genuine kindness. He could only surmise that they must have owed Butler debts so vast and urgent that they must bow to his wishes or suffer the consequences. But he was too impoverished and weak to travel, so he had remained. They called him Eddie, although he and Mrs. Watling both knew that it was not his given name. But he was desperate for a place to remain, so Eddie he was. Desperation lurked more apparent every day, bleak as the gathering winter clouds on the horizon.

In truth, he might have remained there forever, relearning how to live among people again, enjoying the bounteous charms that Clarissa had to offer and the free food which Mrs. Watling so kindly afforded him, had he not seen the famous Butler in the flesh. He had been walking in town with a woman of bewitching beauty and a young boy of about fourteen. His first coherent thought was that he looked like a Borgia.

"That's Rhett Butler there," Clarissa had said. "Miz Watling hates his wife, Miz Scarlett, there. She says she ain't quality. But you shoulda heard what happened, Eddie, lemme tell you. Miz Scarlett's first husband was kilt in the war, but the damned feds done sent 'er a letter said he's alive and well. Well, 'cordin' ter Belle, ole Rhett threw a fit, but she was gonna go back to her first husband, like."

"So what happened then?" he said, his voice impassive.

"Well, it weren't him after all! Poor devil gets caught out in a storm and gets so bloodied up no one can recognize him. But they found out that he was some drifter named Paul. They found his mulatto women a month later, said he was drunk and never came back from the saloon. She collected a pension and that's all she wrote..."

Another disturbing flashback shattered his concentration, but at the moment he saw Scarlett Butler, an urgent need overcame even that, and boiled in his blood. It drove him from Clarissa's bed to wander the hallways of the sporting house all night, crazed as any madman. Then he would return to the grand piano in the salon again and again and sit in a chair and stare at the instrument. Long forgotten diapasons swirled between his temples, memories of his own mental confusion causing his heart to beat rapidly.

More and more, his patience grew thin. Something was wrong—very, very wrong.

"Give yourself time, hon," Clarissa had said.

"How much time?" he replied. "Weeks? Months? Years?"

When he finally gathered the strength to confront Belle Watling herself, she had broken down into a flood of tears and explained that she had known his sister, the name of whom she kept private.

"Let the dead lie," Belle had said. "Ain't gonna bring her back. Ain't gonna do nothin' but ruin lives."

"You know what happened to me."

"What if I do? It's better that you never was. Now I kept you alive. You make somethin' of yerself. You're a smart, handsome man. Got a lot of livin' ter do. No get on out there and do it, you hear?"

And the next day, she had begun to cry again because Butler, her alleged benefactor, had been accused of federal tax evasion and been forced to sell his mansion and stake in her house. Belle had cried foul and hollered loud enough so that Eddie and all of the girls could her that Rhett Butler's kid brother was behind it all.

"He's ruin'd. Ruin'd, hear? Ain't got nothin' now! And she'll leave him! S'all she married him for was his money!"

"Who, Belle?" he had asked.

"Damned Scarlett. Damn her to everlastin' Hell!"

_Scarlett. Scarlett O'Hara. _

Eddie blinked. "Scarlett?"

Belle nodded. "Rhett's wife. She's…never mind, hon. She ain't yer concern. Nor mine. They's goin' ter Charleston and ain't comin' back."

Something triggered some long latent emotion within him, was it, chivalry? He had known someone named Scarlett, and somehow it made perfect sense that she was connected with this disreputable Butler. It was a hateful realization, to acknowledge some long lost culpability for whatever sufferings she had endured, that he was languishing in the sporting house while she was being forced to refugee from her home. It was a waste. A damned, evil waste.

So he had asked Belle for a loan. He had not told her of his intention to go to Charleston; in truth, he wasn't all together sure where Charleston was — but she had accepted that he was ready to start a new life elsewhere, and she had been kind enough to give him a thousand dollars, cash.

"That's a back payment there. Fer yer sister's kindness. Ain't never been a finer lady than her, Eddie. Don't you think no different, ever…"

That very night, he had stepped out of his safe house into the midnight gale storm, his ears deafened by the howl of the wind shifting through the trees and he had run the distance to Peachtree Street, where Clarissa had said that Butler and his wife lived. If only to see her, just one last time…

He was willing to risk whatever memories he might uncover. He had no choice. He had a right to know. The need to see her had become unbearable. He had to assure himself that she was all right. He had to look into her eyes, just once.

Yet, the wind was fighting him, beating him back, robbing his very breath. He fought his way along, shivering against the rain as it pelted his face. At long last, he reached the top of the hill. Peachtree Street. The servants were readying a carriage, already loaded down with luggage. He fixed his gaze on the chalet, it's window shining with light. He moved to the window and looked in.

She was there! Her profile was angelic, perfect. He turned to run, but he had come too far already.

She spun around and looked straight into his eyes, illuminated through the window. She let out a little scream and bounded toward the door. The wind whipped at her skirt as she opened the portal and bounded out into the wet.

He fled, trembling with fear and cold. He could hear her chasing him, but not getting anywhere close to him in her bare feet. She was screaming something which he could not make out and his chest felt coiled in agony.

When he finally saw her fall down in the street in a faint, he felt something evil within him, akin to guilt. When he saw Rhett Butler fall to her side and scoop her up in his strong arms, he could almost taste the bitterness forming in his mouth.

He wanted desperately to admit that it was enough to have seen her; but it had not been enough to ascertain that she was alright. And she _had_ run after him…He had to see her again, if only from a distance.

He imagined on the train ride to Charleston walking up to her, her raising her remarkable eyes up to his, her face brightening with recognition and love. She would scream with pleasure and fling her warm, embracing arms around him. And then she would explain everything and all of the confusion in his mind would resolve itself.

So he trudged through the chilly dawn mist and arranged a hotel room not far from the Battery, where he quickly determined Butler's mother to be a resident by a brief conversation with the hotel clerk. Apparently Butler was indeed feuding with a younger brother, who was running for Congress. The brother, according to the clerk, had even bought Butler's Atlanta mansion.

Poor Rhett, the clerk had said, I heard just today that his wife is gravely ill.

Eddie had turned toward the clerk, his face flushed. "And they are coming here? You're sure?"

The clerk nodded; it was natural that they would stay with Butler's mother while the wife was ill due to its proximity to the hospital.

He had a perfect view of her townhouse from his hotel room. And he would watch. Watch, and wait for the right moment…


	13. Big Plans

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>Thank you all so much, as always, for your kind reviews…<p>

*Your comments give me a great deal of insight and (hopefully) help me tell a better tale. Please enjoy, and keep the feedback coming!*

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><p>Chapter 13:<p>

"She ain't ready, Mist' Rhett," Mammy's voice came, and Rhett spun around to look down into her stern dark eyes, illuminated by the light through the window. The wind whipped at her skirt as she moved around him for the door, a stack of clean sheets in her arms.

"She looks fine," he countered.

"Well, she ain't fine. Not yet. Y'll do Miz Scarlett no favors by tryin' to move her now. She's jus' got better."

"When?" he demanded.

"Be patient, Mist' Rhett."

He slammed his fist down on the wooden end table. "I don't have the time for patience, Mammy."

"What' the matter, Mist' Rhett? You can tell ole Mammy, cain't you?"

He heaved a sigh, trembling from an anger so fierce that a moment before, he had been tempted to smack the old black woman.

"Charles isn't dead."

Mammy's eyes widened. "Whatchu mean?"

"Charles Hamilton is not dead. My brother, God rot him, knows this and is using the information to blackmail me. That's why we moved, Mammy. That's why I had to get out of Atlanta. That's why I sold our house. I've transferred damn near all of my funds to him."

"Ah don' understand."

"When Charles escaped from Tara last year, Scarlett was bound and determined to find him, even if it meant giving me up forever. And when they found that body…it was like God had answered all of our prayers. But it wasn't him. Luckily, I intercepted the man who found him before he made it to town. I sent him to Atlanta, to Belle's, with a note pleading for understanding. Naturally, I paid the man handsomely for seeing him safely there. But Belle took care of him, nursed him back to health. Mercifully, he didn't remember a thing. But my goddamned brother showed up last month. He shares my attorney and somehow managed to dig up my payments to both Central State and to the physician who visited Charles at Belle's. He's always had it out for me, always, for the multitude of sins he perceives me to have perpetrated against him over the years. What better reprisal than to rob me of what I worked so hard to attain?"

"Ah cain't believe it. Mist' Charles— "

"Charles Hamilton will never be the man he was. You must believe me, Mammy. Scarlett never would have been happy with him. She would have been a nurse, a companion, never a wife. Not to mention the danger that Wade and Ella would have been in. It's none of it his fault, of course, but still, I could not allow her to do it. I love her far too much."

"An' she was free ter love you 'gain after that. But youze lyin' to her."

"It was for her own good. You understand that, Mammy, don't you?"

The old woman sighed. "I s'pose. But Mist' Rhett, Miz Watlin' gwine keep Mist' Charles forever?"

"As long as he requires attention. She's a kind woman, Mammy, no matter what you think of her. She'll keep him safe and well-fed and off the streets. That's more care than he would have gotten at the lunatic house, that's for sure."

"And your brodder?"

"Ah. Yes. Robert. He'll try to steal as much of my money as possible. He's probably in Atlanta right now, drinking my brandy and enjoying my house. He'll content himself with that small victory for the present before bothering me again. By then, you never know, Charles could be long gone from Belle's and off to start a new life. One can only hope, anyway."

"And whatchu gwine do?"

"As soon as Scarlett is well enough to travel, we are going to board a ship bound for the Bahamas. I'm not sure if I'd like to live in Nassau permanently or if I'd like to build in Saint Martin, but we have plenty of time to figure that out."

"Mist' Rhett! What about them chiles?"

"Wade and Ella? Why, they're coming with us, of course. As well as you and Pork and Dilcey. Honestly, Mammy, what do you take me for?" He shook his head and gave her a small smile, temporarily unburdened now that he had confessed his plan to someone. It was a good plan, after all…if only Scarlett would regain her strength quickly.

Mammy placed a large hand on his arm. "I 'stand fine, Mist' Rhett." But in her heart, she worried. He had always seemed to her so rational, so even-keeled, except of course, in those horrible days after Miss Bonnie had died, Lord rest the child's sweet soul. He seemed to Mammy like a man possessed. He had won Scarlett back, and he would do anything to keep her safe…and in the dark.

"Gwine in, then, Mist' Rhett. She's awake."

With a quick nod, Rhett shouldered open the door, paused for a moment in the threshold as he gazed back at Mammy, then closed the door behind him.

Scarlett was sitting up in bed, her long hair loose down her back. Her skirt was molded against her slender legs and her eyes, shadowed by the darkness in the room, regarded him fixedly.

"I want to know why we're here in Charleston. Everyone has beaten around the bush because they think me ill. I want to know, now."

He walked over to the bed, his body tingling with anticipation. Surely she couldn't have heard his conversation with Mammy?

"We left because Meade didn't know how to treat you. You had a bad case of pneumonia on top of an already difficult pregnancy."

"I can't imagine Doctor Meade allowing me to be moved," she said, her voice commanding. "Then Wade let slip the fact that our house has been sold. Why, Rhett?"

"It's a terrible thing to watch a loved one die, Scarlett."

"Great balls of fire, you can't mean that you thought I was— "

"I didn't know, Scarlett. You were so pale and still and I was so…frightened. I can't describe the depth of my despair at the thought of losing you." _Especially when, legally, I had already lost you_.

"Oh, Rhett," she said faintly.

"Yes, my love?"

"Do you love me so much?"

"Scarlett," he looked into her eyes and took her hand. "I love you more than any man has ever loved any woman. And I swear on my life to keep you safe from all harm. I would do anything for that end. Does that convince you?"

"What sort of harm, Rhett?"

"Don't you flutter those eyelashes at me, Mrs. Butler. You're going to rest now and then, if you behave yourself, your husband will carry you downstairs for dinner."

"Oh Rhett, that would be divine. I'm ever so stiff from laying in bed all day."

"Well, you have to rest. For yourself and for our child."

"I'll rest. But only for you. The baby and I are perfectly fine."

He managed a weak smile and lifted his hand to her face. "I love you."

When she was at last asleep, Rhett slipped out of her room and down the stairwell to the drawing room, where Wade was reading by the firelight and Ella was busily drawing figures with her charcoal pencils.

"How is Mother?" Wade inquired as Rhett took a seat in the armchair opposite him.

"Much better, I think," Rhett said. "Much, much better. It's cold in here, isn't it, children? How would you both like to go someplace where it's warm all the time?"

"Where, Uncle Rhett?" Ella asked interestedly.

"Nassau. In the Caribbean. You're familiar with the Caribbean I presume, Wade?"

"Yes sir," Wade nodded. "But are we not going back home?"

Rhett shook his head. "We are going to start a new life, your mother and I, and you two, and the new baby. Far, far away from Atlanta and all the bad memories. Would you like that?"

"Very much!" Ella nodded her head. "I don't like Atlanta very much. Nobody is nice to me and calls me names."

"What about the store?" Wade piped up. He was nothing if not practical, Scarlett's boy. "And what about Uncle Ashley and Beau?"

"The store will be fine, son." Rhett said. "Besides, we'll have no need of the store when we're safely in paradise. It's amazing, Ella and Wade - the bluest water you've ever seen. And sand so white, you'd think that you were the first human beings to ever set foot on it."

"It sounds lovely!" Ella clapped her hands with delight. "Can we go now, Uncle Rhett?"

"As soon as your mother recovers her strength, we'll go," Rhett promised. "At the very first opportunity."

"It does sound nice," Wade admitted. "But, Uncle Rhett, will we be going there for a visit only? Or are we meant to stay forever?"

Rhett shook his head. "Nothing is forever, Wade Hampton. But we will be staying there for some time."

"Mother won't like being away from Tara for so long," Wade said sagely. "She's always complaining that Uncle Will isn't managing it properly."

Rhett smiled. "She'll be alright. Once she has the baby, and you both, and me. She won't have much time to worry about Tara and the store then. And Uncle Ashley and Beau are certainly welcome to come and visit. You remember Ashley's sister India? She's married to my cousin Kin Martin, and they live in Nassau. In a great big house overlooking the sea. And we'll be safe there, I promise you that, children."

"Safe from what, Uncle Rhett?" Ella smiled up at him. "We're always safe with you watching out for us."

Rhett motioned for her to jump into his lap and he wrapped his arms tightly around her thin shoulders. If she hadn't been covering his face with a kiss, Wade might have noticed that his stepfather's face looked haggard with worry.

"What would I do without you?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," she whispered back.

Leaving the chair, he gently lifted Ella up and held her against him, feeling her warm arms around him. There was nothing else either of them could say, no comfort for them to impart. He simply held her.


	14. Never Say Die

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>As always, I am so, so grateful for all feedback my readers have to offer. Good or bad - I'm honored that you guys give me your time by reading my work, so I'd love to hear your thoughts.<p>

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><p>Chapter 14<p>

Robert Allen Butler, Esquire, heavily favored Democratic candidate for the United States House of Representatives, sat on his heavily breathing horse staring down at his family's home on the Battery.

Once again, he had allowed Charles Hamilton to slip through his hands, and once again, Rhett was about to come out on top, despite all of his careful planning and scheming. A tiny voice inside his head was taunting him, reminding him that since he had retrieved Hamilton from the hellhole in Antigua, Rhett had managed to thwart him at every turn. And win back his wife in the process…

Of course, his brother had succumbed initially to Robert's blackmail, sacrificing a substantial portion of his money and Hamilton's sanity—not that Rhett needed to worry overmuch about that. He had always been a self-serving bastard. What twisted fate that Rhett, who had always done his best to humiliate Robert because of his own ill luck and bad fortune, who had taunted him at every turn, was now running scared. Or at least, he would be. If only Robert hadn't managed to lose his bargaining chip!

Had he only been able to produce Charles...if he could, the news of Rhett's adulterous marriage would destroy not only him, but that bitch of a wife of his, as well. Robert knew only too well the high-mindedness of their peers, the Old Guard of Atlanta and Charleston. Rhett had worked so hard to repair his sullied reputation, and that reputation was all that was keeping the financial wolves from his door. And if Robert didn't make something happen soon, he'd disappear again, in Europe perhaps—but in any case, somewhere where no one could touch him. Goddamn his brother. He truly did have the mouth of the devil.

But out of desperation is born creativity, and Robert possessed that quality in abundance. And he would play the only hand he possessed. He rode to the stables and left his lathered horse with a waiting servant, one left over from his father's time. The old negro was as soaked as Robert himself.

At last he found himself on the pathway to the front entrance, his boots soaked from the muddy shoal. He froze on the first step at the sounds of frenzied barking.

"Goddamn!" he cursed loudly as the largest dog he'd ever seen rounded the house, driving through the rain straight at him, its bushy tail tucked low in anticipation of the attack.

His brother was waiting for him at the door. That old man _had_ always thought that his brother hung the moon.

"Easy, boy."

"Call your goddamned dog off, Rhett!"

"Really, why should I? Clearly he possesses the ability to smell a rat, even in the dark. Good boy; heel."

Even worse than the near miss was the fact that Rhett had beaten him to their mother's house. He was the last person in the world Robert had expected to see there.

"Down!" came the shout of an adolescent boy of about thirteen years. Robert rubbed the raindrops from his eyes and returned his attention toward Rhett and the door. The boy was standing behind him, clearly smirking at his discomposure. The Saint Bernard dog immediately fell back, fairly grinning at its young master with adoration. Robert's resentment for Rhett was burning so fiercely that he desired nothing more then to shoot him and have it over and done with…but for the boy. Getting himself convicted for murder did not fit well into Robert's scheme.

"Come in, brother," Rhett said with cool disdain. "We have the dog under control. For now."

Flashing him a look of hatred, Robert treaded cautiously on the stairs and around the big dog and into the front foyer.

"He won't hurt you," the boy said.

"Well, unless he felt that you were threatened, Wade," Rhett countered, "then he'd waste no time ripping someone's legs off."

"Wade, eh?" Robert said with marked interest, extending his hand now that the dog was sitting obediently at Rhett's side. "I am Robert Butler, your stepfather's brother."

"Sir." Wade dutifully shook the man's hand.

"You know, Wade, you look remarkably like your father. I was fortunate enough to have known him. I was two years ahead of him at Harvard, you see. He was, as I'm sure you are, a diligent scholar."

Wade's eyes widened as big as coins.

"You knew my father?"

"Indeed. In fact, dear Wade, your father spent many a weekend in this very house. Our own father deeply enjoyed his company. Come to think of it, your namesake, General Hampton would often join us too. Surely Rhett has mentioned it?"

"No sir."

"Perhaps the memories are too painful for you to hear—do forgive me, for mentioning it."

"Not at all, sir. I'm very glad to hear from someone who knew him."

Rhett smiled, looking nothing if not alert. "Perhaps you forget, _dear_ brother. I was already long expelled from this house when you were in college. I had made my own way in life, by then."

Robert's black eyebrow shot up at that. "Your behavior was unfortunate. That you were forced to suffer the consequences for it not my problem."

"My behavior was unfortunate? No, Robert. My behavior would never have been so poorly received had you not been there to rub it in Father's face morning, noon, and night. But you were not content with stealing his affection, oh no, you were out to ruin me as well!"

"You've ruined yourself." Robert sniffed.

"Well," Rhett shrugged nonchalantly and put a hand on Wade's shoulder. "That remains to be seen."

"Uncle Rhett!" The small creature bounded down the long hallway, a little girl with an exquisite face and ginger-hued ringlets. Her eyes were sparkling green gems filled with such glee that Robert felt himself nearly keel over in resentment.

"Uncle Rhett, you must come quickly! Mother's walked the length of the upstairs hallway and she says that she's well enough to come downstairs by herself. Mammy told her no but she's gonna do it anyway."

Rhett, for his part, seemed troubled by her message and, taking her hand in his, turned on his heels.

"Wait here, please," he addressed Robert, forgetting momentarily about Wade, who was still holding his dog by the collar.

"I take it your mother is recovering from her illness?" Robert addressed the boy after Rhett had been gone for several minutes. Wade, for his part, was looking at him with genuine puzzlement.

"Yes sir, she's much better. But sir? How well did you know my father?"

Robert's face seemed troubled, to the boy. "We were acquainted. But through General Hampton and my father more than by our own association."

"What was he like?" the boy said eagerly.

"He was a great gentleman. A good man. And I'm sure, a gallant soldier."

"Ah, gallantry upon the field of battle. Something you were never able to experience for yourself."

Robert froze at the sound of his brother's voice.

"My brother was foresighted, Wade," Rhett smirked. "He knew that if he ever hoped for a postbellum political career, he'd have to avoid military service at all costs. Your father, Wade Hampton, was by far the better man. Now, be a good lad and see that your mother is comfortable, won't you?"

"Yes sir," Wade nodded, then backed out the door, eyes still fixed upon Robert.

"I suppose you know why I'm here?" Robert sneered.

"I'll skip the obvious pleasantries and assume that you are here to rub the existence of a particular person in my face, is that it?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes."

"I've signed you over my assets in Atlanta, Robert. What else do you need to hold you over?"

"Besides the sight of you dragged away in handcuffs? Ah, well. Many things, Rhett. Genuine contrition on your part. Remorse. You have, after all, deprived poor Charles Hamilton of his wife."

Rhett's eyes seemed to glow in anticipation. "I don't think that you would be here if you had him. And as a matter of fact, I know that you do not."

"But…how?"

"Belle keeps me informed. I bet you had a genuine hissy fit when you learned that he was no longer under your thumb."

"Belle Watling is a lying whore!"

"She is a whore. But she's honest as the day is long."

"I'll go to the papers."

"Will you? With what evidence? Your word against mine, brother. Aside from that, I could care less what you do, since I intend on taking my family on a very extended vacation. Tomorrow."

"That's right, Rhett, run and hide like you did when you were licking the wounds Father gave you!"

"You son of a bitch!" Rhett gripped his brother's cravat and pinned him against the wall. "You don't know what I did. You have no idea. You were too busy licking Father's ass. Now, you sniveling little insect, remove yourself from my sight and take care not to test me. Before God, you will lose."

Robert adjusted his cravat as Rhett released him. "Not if I find him first. You can't leave the country with another man's wife."

"Try and stop me."

"I'll find him."

"Start looking then. See if you can find him before tomorrow."

**. . . .**

Despairing, Robert Butler walked the length of the street, cursing his brother inwardly. He was thwarted, indeed. There was no hope in recovering Charles before evening next, and as he had heard for himself, Rhett's wife was nearly fully recovered. There'd be no stopping him.

He rounded the corner and ducked into the nearest tavern. Hopefully they could be discreet enough should he feel the need to get smolderingly intoxicated. He hoped so, for he felt the need keenly. Damn Rhett. Damn him, damn him.

He took a seat at the bar, next to a man in a black overcoat. His drinking partner was staring into his lager as though he did not know whether or not he should drink it.

"You sick or something?' Robert commented as he attempted to flag down the barman.

Then he saw the man's face.

Attempting a smile as the man's bright brown eyes turned toward him, a shimmering glow of pleasure and heat appeared on Robert's own cheeks.

"Charles?" he said as gently as possible. "Would you be agreeable to taking a walk with me?"

"Certainly not," he replied.

"Just for a moment. I promise not to delay you overlong."

Charles's eyes still had a haze of confusion about them. He did not know Robert. He had no idea that he had been the one to take him from Antigua.

"But why would you wish to speak to me?"

"I have news which concerns you. News of Scarlett."


	15. Once You've Loved Somebody

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>As always, I wanted to thank those of you who have taken the time to review this story. I had a couple of questions asked about the time shifts and I apologize for any confusion. I tried to be as clear as possible when characters changed locations. This is why feedback is so awesome - it allows me to address questions, and clarify and correct mistakes when I am able. So, <strong>THANK YOU<strong>!

*They _have _been jet setting - they've traveled from Tara, home to Atlanta, and now, circumstances have forced them to Charleston; Charles has made the same journey, just via a different route. Anon, you caught an oversight on my part in Chapter 1 when Rhett assumes that both children were at Tara- I did not correct it simply because I figured Scarlett wouldn't have bothered to correct Rhett, since Ella was at Tara although Wade was not. Wade never went to Tara, as he's in school with Beau in Atlanta up until the Charleston move. *

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><p>Chapter 15:<p>

He cursed the sanity that had blindsided him.

As the hours passed, Charles yearned with desperation for the insanity that had allowed him to escape within his mind. There, the gentle caresses of oblivion brought him peace. Relief from the fear, from the pain, from the heartache. And from the hatred. Only within that oblivion would Melly come to him.

Melly. Now he knew for sure what he had already assumed. Her presence had been nothing more than an aberration based on his madness. Melly, the only person in his entire life who had ever truly loved him. His mother must have loved him, but she had died giving birth to Melly, and he'd not been old enough to recall her. His father, the fierce hero of the Mexican War, had not loved him. Had not loved Melly either. They had only been painful reminders of his dead wife. And Charles had never proven himself worthy of being called the great general's son.

How delusional he must have been, to believe that a girl such as Scarlett O'Hara would truly love him. How naïve, to believe that after all this time, she might have cared.

Ah, but he had loved her. Despite their lack of similarity, despite the fact that he knew full well that she would always hold the heart of every man in a room the moment she walked into it - he had been willing to endure, to break his contract with Honey, to defy the expectations of his family.

He had loved her even as the train bore him away from Georgia to Mr. Hampton's legion in South Carolina. He had loved her when he had been captured by the Union blockader, when he had been sold into slavery. How often, as he rotted away in the dismal cell of his island prison, did he recall Rhett Butler's face as he shared drinks with the men who held him. How he had stared into the man's unfeeling black eyes, hoping against hope to behold a trickle of recognition in them. Kinnicutt Martin, the pirate lord who had bought him. The man whose loathing had been palpable enough to cause Charles to tremble in his presence.

"_Whoever you were is irrelevant."_

"_You're as good as dead."_

"_No one suspects you to be still living."_

"_Die already, die!"_

The door opened and Charles stopped pacing. The man who had called himself Robert entered the room with a plate full of piping hot food. He placed it on an end table.

"Who are you, really?"

Robert froze, then made a little grimace. "I'm an…an old acquaintance."

"You said that you had news of Scarlett," Charles said accusatorily. "Or was that another trick to lure me back to the lunatic house?"

"Come now, Charles."

"Just answer me."

"Who I am is a matter of supreme indifference to you, just know that-"

"I wonder if you're the reason I've spent the last twelve years languishing in Antigua's darkest dungeon?"

Robert's eyes narrowed as Charles approached him.

"You're his brother aren't you? Butler's."

"Hmm, well, blood never lies."

"They told me you were feuding. That you had bought his house. I take it I had a part in that?"

"How shrewd you are, Charles. I thought I'd have to explain it all to you."

"You brought me back in hopes of destroying him."

"You can thank me for that later."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Charles backed toward the window. "Step away from me."

"Don't you want to see your wife?"

"I saw her in Atlanta. She was hurt. Because of me. And they told me she was ill."

"You could see her yourself. You are her husband, Charles."

"Why? Because I married her when she was sixteen? Two weeks does not constitute a marriage, Butler. Not after twelve years. Now if you'll excuse me."

Robert planted his feet, blocking the doorway.

"You saw Scarlett, you say. But I wonder if you have seen her son."

A fresh spasm of pain and anger seemed to rush through Charles. "Your nephew, I presume?"

"Ah," Robert smiled. "So you don't know."

Charles's enormous brown eyes were widened. His own devotion, the mindless, heart-stopping emotion he had once felt for Scarlett cut into his heart with such intensity that he could feel tears forming in his eyes.

"Her son is a strapping boy. Thirteen years old or so, by the look of him."

"Stay away from him!" Charles declared in a trembling voice. "My God. Why? Why, why, why? If you harm one hair on his head, so help me God!"

Robert smirked. "No harm will come to him, if you'd just cooperate."

"What, help you ruin your brother? He loves Scarlett, does he not? Does she not love him in return?"

"He left her. He only came back when you showed up. Rhett's always been the jealous type."

"No. My God. My. Son."

"He would have divorced her, Charles. Divorced her! Left her to rot on the streets."

"What are you saying, Butler? Speak now! No, you will speak no more, because everything out of your mouth is a lie. Nothing but your vile manipulations. I don't believe you."

"Believe me, Charles. Believe me."

Charles stepped toward Robert Butler until they stood toe to toe, eye to eye.

"This news should please you, Charles. You must want to reclaim what is yours. You must want to be a father to your boy. A husband to your wife? Admit it, Charles."

Charles could not respond. Why could he not? Why did the possibility of picking up where he left off swell so at his heart? It was not pity for Butler. He loathed the man with every fiber of his being.

Lying, manipulative bastard!

But he had thought that Scarlett was happy with her new husband. She surely still could not love him. It was folly to have fallen for her before. Lunacy on his part to have believed that she could have grown to love him in such a short time. It was madness to believe that she had melted beneath his touch as he had hers. After all, she had screamed in rage when he had first moved to touch her. How had she reacted when she found that he had gotten her with child? Did she love his boy as much as Butler's children?

His heart began to quicken. Some hateful emotion aroused itself within him. His throat tightened so that he could not swallow. He tried to fight it.

"My son. What...What did she call him?"

Robert said nonchalantly. "The boy? His name is Wade. Named for General Hampton I presume. That was all the fashion during the war years."

The words stunned Charles. He shook his head frantically, his tears spilling down his cheeks. His thoughts were muddled by confusion.

"You loved her once. Do you not love her still, Charles?"

"No. I don't know what it is to love anymore. And I don't love her. I just wanted her to be…happy. And…" He swallowed heavily. "I want to see my boy."

"Then you will help me?" Robert's eyes widened with perverse delight.

"No. No I will not." Charles shoved Robert Butler aside and fled through the open door.

"He'll go see for himself…" Robert muttered to himself. "And I'll be waiting. With witnesses."


	16. The Long Way Around

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

* * *

><p>As always, I wanted to thank those of you who have taken the time to review this story. So, <strong>THANK YOU<strong>! Please enjoy, and review!

* * *

><p>Chapter 16:<p>

Rhett remained in a chair at Scarlett's bedside throughout the night as she slept. The morning dawn shone brightly through the curtains, and upon inspection, Rhett noted the snow that had fallen the night before. Three inches at least by the look of it - unheard of for Charleston! He gazed wearily out onto the white landscape. There would be no voyage to warmer climes this day. No, the sailors would declare the rare snowfall a holiday and not report for duty. He'd have to wait it out. Perhaps another day, perhaps a week.

"Rhett?" Scarlett called from the bed and he hurried to her side. "What is it?"

"Unusual weather we're having," he winked, bending down to kiss her. He turned his head and looked his wife over. Her pale face appeared as fatigued as his own. Perhaps it was a good thing they were being delayed.

Some other emotion lingered on her visage, too. Was it…sadness? Her shoulders rose and fell as she took a deep breath to respond.

"I was dreaming. About Bonnie."

"Really?"

"Yes, and Melly was with her. Mother too. And Pa."

He could feel his eyes misting. "And were they all … alright?"

Scarlett smiled. "Oh yes. Melly took my hand and asked me to come with her. It was so safe. Warm. Dark. No more pain. No more bad memories."

"Memories of what, dearest?"

"Life. Melly and Mother were so, so beautiful. And Bonnie too. And Pa, he was in the prime of life again. I didn't want to wake up. But Melly said that I had to."

"Scarlett, Scarlett…"

"Melly said I'd understand it all, sometime. She said she'd show us both miracles yet."

"Miracles?" Rhett muttered, placing his hand on the slight swell of her abdomen and kissing it. "I need no more proof than this."

"Oh Rhett," she gasped and a shiver ran through her, causing her body to jerk.

"It's a boy," Rhett whispered confidently. "I can feel his heart beat. Strong and steady, like his father."

"I'm so scared, Rhett."

"Shh…I'm right here, honey. I won't leave your side."

Her desperate eyes flooded with tears. "I'm being silly. So, so silly."

"No. No, Scarlett. You've been ill and you're with child and you've been such a brave girl for so long … You don't need to worry about anything else, honey, anything."

"I shouldn't be sad. I shouldn't. But I have this horrible feeling, Rhett, as if I've forgotten something. It's driving me crazy and I can't stand it. I just wish I could get out of here. Out of bed, out of this house. I wish I could go home, Rhett. Do you think we could go to Tara?"

He bit his lip, unsure of how to convey his intentions to her without worrying her unduly. For the moment, he chose to put off discussing the matter, at least for the moment.

"You need to get some sleep, sweetheart. Here, if you're a good little girl, I'll climb in this bed with you and make sure you're safe. Because I promise you, Scarlett, that's exactly how you are going to stay."

"Oh, Rhett!' she exclaimed with delight as he wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled the covers up around them both. She felt his hand rest protectively next to her middle, and she could feel the child …their son… move against his fingers in response. Allowing the peaceful bliss of the moment to overcome her, she attempted to set her worries aside, and closed her eyes.

"Cap'n Butler? 'Scuse me? Mis' Rhett?"

Rhett opened his eyes and blinked sleepily. Scarlett was snoozing peacefully by his side. He rolled to his back and looked into Mammy's wide eyes.

The old woman was wringing her hands as she spoke somberly. "Mis' Rhett, there's a gemp'man downstairs. Says it's urgent. Ah tole him you and Miss Scarlett weren't takin' no callers but he wouldn't leave."

Rhett frowned and sat up. Surely Robert would have announced himself. His head throbbed and his eyes felt abraded. How long had he slept? Not long, surely.

"Who is it, Mammy? What'd he look like?"

She shook her head. "Wouldn't say, Mis' Rhett. Jes' tole me it was a matter of life an' death."

Who would come for him here? And why?

Suspicion roused as Rhett slid from the bed.

"You be careful, suh," Mammy said emphatically. "Wish we'd done get this mess over with."

"And you've never seen the man before, Mammy?"

"Well, suh, Ah didn' look right close at his face. But Ah'd reckon Ah'd 'member what a gemp'man look like, suh."

He shook his head. "I reckon you would, Mammy. If you'd sit with Scarlett, I'd be most grateful."

"Yessuh. Ah's keep a good watch over mah lamb."

"If she wakes, tell her I'll be back momentarily."

"Yessuh. Sho' will."

With some trepidation, Rhett walked down the long corridor and descended the staircase, his gaze locking on the man bundled in a heavy coat and hat low around his eyes. He was shuffling muddy boots on the marble floor of the foyer.

Rhett hesitated to the bottom step.

The man peered at him from the shadow of his hat.

"Who are you?" Rhett asked.

"I'm here to speak to Scarlett. And to her son."

"What do you want with them?"

He moved closer. "I'll speak with Scarlett, if you would be so kind."

Rhett drew his shoulders back and stepped from the stair. "I'm her husband."

He felt the discomfiting impact of his perusal as the other man regarded him at length.

"I realize that. And I mean no harm. I wish only to see her."

"And you are, sir?"

The man finally removed his hat, revealing a face that was still young, but marred by lines of worry. His hair might have been brown, but it was liberally streaked with silver, and the stubble of his beard was completely gray.

"I'm Charles Hamilton."

Rhett moved closer, his eyes narrowed as he looked for something recognizable in the face. "You've changed," he said finally. "Charles Hamilton."

"In many ways." He nodded.

"Damn me. It _is _you. But what's happened to you?"

"I suppose I should be asking you the same thing, Butler. But by either fate or by some design of yours, I was acquainted with your brother. His words gave me very little indication of the latter option."

Rhett let out a hollow chuckle. "No, Charles. I did not mean for my brother to seek you out. I'm very sorry if he caused you any harm."

Charles shook his head. "No harm. Not to me. But I feel obliged to tell you that he does not wish you well, and I fear that Scarlett might be in danger."

Rhett clamped one hard hand upon the smaller man's wrist, causing him to cry aloud in pain. He attempted to back away, but Rhett held him with desperation.

"What did he say?"

"Let me go, Butler! Let go of me!"

"Tell me, damn you!"

"He threatened her. And my son."

Rhett felt his heart beating fast. "Wade? He told you then. That's why you're here, I presume?"

"Let me go."

Rhett obliged, then took a step back as Charles jerked the released hand out of his reach and folded his arms.

"How did you know that we were here?" Rhett said after several moments of silence.

"I have a few questions for you first, if you would be so kind."

Rhett opened his mouth to reply, but could summon no words to address Charles. At his nod, Charles began to speak.

"When did you become aware that I was alive?"

Rhett stilled. "Last year. At the same time Scarlett did."

"But before that, surely, you must have known. You sailed into port enough. Is it coming back to you now, Butler? The look of desperation on our faces? Mine in particular? I just knew that you'd recall me from Twelve Oaks, that you'd offer your assistance, bring me home to my wife. But I saw you for what you were - a traitor to the Cause as well as a miserable blackguard! And I see now why you refused to come to my aid. It was not in your interest to do so."

Rhett searched the face of the man before him. Yes. Yes, it was coming back to him now. The smell of rotting flesh in the heat had been so overwhelming though, he'd not gotten anywhere close enough to see. "It was not in my interest, Charles, but not in the way you think. Scarlett and I had met only once, at the barbeque that you mentioned. And I certainly had no idea that she had been married so shortly after. You see, Charles, I didn't see her again for over a year. Your boy had already been born by then."

"But you kept coming."

"I can explain that, too. I'm sure you were aware, Charles, the Confederate command had fantasies of England coming in and saving their hides. Once England was out of the picture, morale gradually dropped and the fact that it was a lost cause was known to all but poor, blind Jeff Davis … but I digress …I was an unofficial liaison to the Commandant of the British Navy stationed on the island. And while I did, as you've said, profit shamefully on the sale of my cotton - my main purpose there was to secure loans of money and manpower for the Confederate Congress."

"And can you explain Martin's actions?"

Rhett shook his head. "Kin's a hard man. He's from a disinherited branch of my mother's family, the Rhetts. He's always been a hell of a sailor and an even better pirate, for a time. He probably bought you and your fellows from the British because he recognized that you were Americans."

"And he locked me in his ship's brig!" Charles spat.

"At least you were safe. But what happened to you then?"

"That's what I was hoping you could explain. I was captured. I was made a slave. I …suffered greatly." He shuffled his feet and twisted the hat in his hands. "Unspeakable things."

"And you blame Kin?"

"I assumed he was behind it. He always seemed to have it out for me. The others were released eventually and sent home. Then I heard of your association and I …"

"You assumed I was behind it? No, Charles, I was not. But I'm unclear as to how you first were returned to the country."

"Your brother found me. Half mad and delirious. The United States government did a complete sweep at Barbuda. I was questioned. They said they wanted to hang me as a rebel spy. I told them my name. Your brother started questioning me, provoking responses by mentioning people and places I'd not thought of in years."

"Well, I know what he was doing there and I know why. It's not the first time he's tried to do me in. The last time, I was accused with making off with the Confederate treasury. I was damn near hanged for it."

"That's what they were searching for. Apparently they found men strewn out all down the coast, not gold."

"Unsurprising. Slave traders were desperate, even after it was no longer legal."

"He was delayed in Washington by unforeseen paperwork. He had no idea that it would be so difficult to bring a dead man back to life. They gave me examinations and declared that I was fit to travel unescorted, so put me on a train to Augusta. But two men waylaid me. Now, I think they might be in league with your brother, for when next I woke, I was halfway to Milledgeville, and the lunatic asylum."

"Again, I think you're right, Charles. He has a contact there, a warden. And as for the two cronies you mentioned, I am aware of them too. Pair of New Orleans thugs who aren't opposed to doing the work that Robert will not. But you escaped?"

"I rolled off the wagon and hid in the fields. I'm not sure if you knew this, Butler, but I spent a summer apprenticeship at a law firm in Milledgeville, so I knew the area. I knew that I had to get back to Atlanta without delay if I was to avoid recapture, which I did. Imagine my surprise when I saw the announcement for the wedding of my own cousin to none other than Kinnicutt Martin. Imagine my horror."

"I see your point. But I presume now that you recognize that the fault for your situation does not rest with him?"

Charles shrugged. "It matters little, at this point. But I take it that you took responsibility for me afterward?"

"Scarlett and Ashley did. You went to Tara for a grand total of a week before you flew the coop. We thought you to be dead."

"But …?"

"A body was found that resembled yours. So we had a grand funeral for you and all was well. Then, one night, I'm enjoying a cigar on the porch when a very distressed mulatto woman comes crying about an insane man in her house and her husband gone for nearly a week. Of course, I looked into it. I made a judgment call then, Charles. You were very ill, a high fever, very week. Absolutely incoherent. I had only then been given another chance at saving my marriage, which at the time, was more important to me than playing nursemaid to you. But I sent you on to Belle's. And I presume, you received all care?"

Charles nodded. "They saved my life. It was kind of them to take me in."

"By way of being an old friend of mine."

"And my sister's, Belle said."

"Did that offend you?" Rhett said, more harshly than he had intended.

"No. Melly was a gentle soul. She would have demonstrated her Christian charity to anyone. Even Belle. Even you."

"She was a very, very great lady. One who I miss very much."

"Indeed."

Rhett's shoulders were bent, and in that moment, he felt very old and frail. "So, what are we to do? It seems that we are both married to the same woman."

A single tear fell down his face, a result of the memory of his most beloved sister. This man, who he should by all accounts hate and despise, loved and had been loved by his own Melly. Melly would never have allowed him to marry Scarlett, if she had not loved him. His way was clear.

"I wish to start my life anew. Away from all of this. Away from your brother. As I said, I do not desire to cause you trouble. And I will not contest your marriage. I would only ask, with your permission, if I might see my son and Scarlett before I go?"

Rhett let out a ragged, choking sound. "That's …all?"

Another nod from Charles.

"Rhett? Charlie?"

Both men stilled and turned immediately, seeing Scarlett standing at the top of the staircase, her fingers clutching her velvet skirt and her face wan.

"This is some kind of trick, isn't it?" Scarlett demanded.

"Scarlett-" Rhett moved to assist her.

"No, no, no!"

"Scarlett!"

She took a step down, then another, and then one more. Rhett stood, frozen, eyes widened with horror as she missed the step, then fell forward.

A scream, a flurry of skirts.

He blinked. His wife's still form was spread out on the marble floor. She did not move.


	17. I Can Love You Better

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

* * *

><p>As always, I wanted to thank those of you who have taken the time to review this story. So, <strong>THANK YOU<strong>! Please enjoy, and review!

* * *

><p>Chapter 17:<p>

The door closed behind him, and Charles was left alone with the woman whom he had so loved for the majority of his adult life, the woman who had been his wife and borne his child. The woman who was now struggling for her very breath. He moved to Scarlett's bed and stretched out one head to touch her forehead. No, he would not touch her. His emotions were too keen and disturbing. The blind indifference that had settled in him the last decade had vanished, replaced by the unwelcome emotion of recalled fondness.

He cursed the devil-borne sanity. The fickleness of the human heart. His and hers alike.

"You love her again, don't you?" Rhett Butler had asked as they had both stood in wait while the best physicians in Charleston took account of Scarlett's condition. Charles's gaze had shifted away from Scarlett to Butler's eyes, then back to Scarlett's swelling belly. "My baby," she had moaned as the physician poured a dose of laudanum down her throat for the pain.

A fresh and sharp pain shot through Charles's heart.

"Of course you do," Rhett spat accusingly, his lips quivering. "You can't help it any more than I can. But you don't know her like I do. She's not easy to love."

"I gathered as much."

"But love her we do, don't we? Yes. Love her and hate her, as well. She's an addiction. Precious poison that draws us in and begs us to tame it. We crave it, the unattainable …and when we have it, it kills us."

Charles had looked at him with horror. "What are you saying, Butler? For God's sake, man, you cannot mean that! You are …inebriated."

"Drunk, Charles, drunk. And why not? I'm ruined and I've killed Scarlett and my child. Again, blood is on my hands."

"She's not dead!" he had snapped, eyes narrowing in their slits. "And your child may yet live."

"My children aren't destined to live they-"

"At least you had time with your daughter, sir. And you've been a father to my son and Scarlett's other daughter, have you not? Though how good of one you've been, I am quite sure I don't know -"

Butler had turned his head away then. "Get the hell away from me!"

"If I tell you of my own living hell, Butler, you would shake your head and declare it my misfortune, would you not? For placing my own troth borne of a boyhood affection in front of yours? I watched you, that day at Twelve Oaks. I saw how you stared at her - the longing in your eyes." Charles stood in front of him and forced the other man to look him in the eye. "Tell me, Butler, how did you manage to win her over after my convenient demise last year?"

Silence then…

"I went back to tell her -"

"Tell her what?"

"That she was making a goddamned mistake!"

"She didn't agree?"

"She felt an obligation to the memory of her sister."

"And you couldn't leave well enough alone, could you? With me out of the way, you didn't have to work nearly as hard at winning her over, did you?" Charles demanded, shaking his head. "And you seem to be capable of nothing save for putting her life in jeopardy - what are you afraid of, Butler, besides her dying? I think you're frightened that she'll finally see you for the sniveling coward that you are!"

He batted at Charles's trembling hand. "Call me coward again -"

"I'm speaking nothing but the truth, sir. The hate in your eyes pains me, as I can see now that you are capable of loving her only when it's perfectly convenient for you. At the first sign of trouble, you're gone - be it to the bottle or to places unknown."

"Goddamn you, Charles Hamilton!"

"Rail all you like, Captain Butler. Your hatred of me, of your brother, your lingering hatred of Scarlett and whatever sins you perceive her to have committed against you, your feelings of guilt over your daughter's death. Forget your own sufferings for a moment and recall, sir, that you are not the only man who has ever suffered."

"You are cruel, Charles Hamilton."

"I am cruel, Butler. But I have not treated Scarlett so abysmally as you have - nor would I have ever, if our positions were reversed."

Butler's words revived in Charles's head - that Scarlett had been of a mind to choose _him _when she had brought him to Tara, even over her penitent husband - that combined with the knowledge that she had searched for him after he'd escaped.

Still, it pained him to linger overlong in memories.

One hand lifted up toward him, and he shrank away out of habit. He could feel his fists clench involuntarily and he fought an overwhelming need to flee the house and the memories entirely.

"Rhett?" she blinked at him.

"Shh…Captain Butler's just resting, Scarlett. He agreed to get some rest after the doctor took his leave and I volunteered to sit in his stead. For a time."

He turned away and sank into the little ladder-back chair near the bed. Exhaustion and despair lay like lead weight upon his shoulders. The very sight of her swollen belly caused his throat to tighten. Somewhere in the house lingered his own son, the son who had not a single memory of him and thought him dead. Perhaps that was how it should remain. What good was the knowledge to the boy? If Scarlett were to die - it would all change. By God, Butler would not raise their boy if she were to succumb to death.

The minutes turned to hours. The cold in the room intensified and the embers within the hearth turned an ashy grey. He listened to the tortured moans of pain that came out of her mouth, cringed at the spasms that wracked her body every time she took a deep breath. At last, her eyes fluttered open again and he moved toward the bed.

How shrunken and pitiable she looked, and any anger he had felt toward her was transferred over to Butler, who had placed her in this state. According to the physician, an old miscarriage and a previous injury to her ribs made the pregnancy inadvisable, and increased in danger. Dr. Meade had instructed her to remain in bed for the duration of her confinement, Butler had said. But he had also said that she was not due to deliver for, Charles counted on his fingers, one, two, three, four months. April. A fine month for a child to be born. If it was God's will that he or she should be born at all.

His poor Scarlett, to have lost two children, two husbands, and to be saddled with a drunken brute like Butler, whose mood was as will-o'-the-wisp as the very wind. He touched her hand, and felt a shiver shoot down his spine as his fingers curled round hers. Closing his eyes, he reached out to Melly in his mind. And yet … there was nothing. Not so much as a whisper from her in response.

"Scarlett?"

Blinking, she turned to look up into Charles's face, familiar, yet foreign.

"Dear Merciful God in Heaven!" he exclaimed. "You're going to come out of it yet!"

Her face still seemed white, from either shock or her injury or both. Charles Hamilton, the man who had been infatuated enough with her to propose marriage and break off his own engagement. Who had adored her with the naïve purity of a chaste youth.

Once, Charles Hamilton would have done anything to win her favor, but he counted himself far wiser now - and he knew full well that the emotion she had emitted in their two weeks of married life had not been even remotely close to love. Scarlett would have surely experienced passion of another sort, the kind that occurs from living with the man with whom she yearns to spend the rest of her life. And that man was not him.

Scarlett forced a smile and attempted to lift her chin. "Charlie?"

"Yes, it's me."

She covered her mouth with one hand and murmured. "Oh my God. Dear God. I thought that … where did you come from? Oh God, I fell, didn't I?"

"You did, Scarlett. But the doctor has come and gone and he has assured us that you'll be alright, with complete rest. And your child."

Her gaze raked him, and she shook her head. "It's not you, Charlie. It can't be. It's Charlie's ghost in front of me, isn't it? Come to take me and my baby away. Yes? Yes!"

He fell to his knees and clasped his hands around hers. Tears poured forth from her eyes. "I don't want to die, Charlie, I don't want to die!"

"Hush now, Scarlett, hush. You're not going to die. I'm no ghost. Flesh and blood I am. I swear to you."

Again, she looked up into his eyes. His sister's eyes. Her body trembled. "It's not possible. I won't believe it … But -"

Her fingers traced the line of his cheek as he leaned neared the bed, feeling the stubble of his beard. He could imagine her thoughts; after all, he had seen his reflection in her vanity as he had stood guard at her bedside. No longer was he the rosy-cheeked innocent who had married the prettiest belle in Georgia.

No longer a boy.

No longer an innocent.

No longer the husband of the woman he had adored.

His own kind heart was stirred at the sight of her tears. How long since Butler had retreated to his own bedroom? Hours? Her hand was still lingering at his cheek. He savored the warmth she kindled, which rushed throughout his body like raging fire.

"I can't believe it, Charlie," she whispered, "I don't understand."

"I'll tell you all, Scarlett.. It's a sordid and sorry tale, and I fear that you shall despise me even more when I'm finished." At her nod of encouragement, he continued, "Very well, then. It all began when I fell ill from the measles…"

He was still on his knees when he finally finished his tale - all of it.

How he had been captured and surrendered to a crew of pirates.

How had been enslaved, entombed in the asylum, and lapsed into total madness after those who had known him since boyhood rejected him at India's wedding - Scarlett included.

She listened without speaking. Then, she began a tale of her own. One which encompassed twelve years of war, poverty, defeat, a loveless marriage to Frank Kennedy, social ruin in order to survive, marriage to Captain Butler, whom she loved, but too late, his sister's death, which struck him like a blow. Her struggle to raise her two remaining children alone. Butler's treatment - supremely indifferent until he, Charles, had shown up and spurred the man to action. He shuddered and groaned as she went on, before finally burying his face in his hands.

"My God, my God," he repeated. "My darling Scarlett. How you have suffered! I would gladly give up my own life to remove the horrors you've suffered from your mind and heart."

She sighed heavily. "It's done, Charlie. I suffered no more than any other Southerner. I did what I did to survive, and I'm certain it was better than your hellish existence. Melly wouldn't have been able to stand it, if she had known. Melly would never have allowed -"

"Stop. My dear, don't upset yourself."

"Melly's sweet, gentle brother. Wade Hampton is so much like you, sweet and gentle. I am what I am, and you-"

"Do not berate yourself. Ever. You understand?"

He stood abruptly and paced around the room, thrusting his hands through his hair before finally looking down into her still face.

"Butler has treated you unspeakably. And where is the son of a bitch now? Skulking about like a man possessed!"

"Poor Rhett. We lost our daughter and he took it so hard -"

"Many people lose children. I don't mean to be callous about your daughter's death, but it is so, Scarlett. He has no right to carry the burden with him unto now, when you need him so desperately. If I could - I would aspire to kill him myself."

She did not know Charles Hamilton in that moment. She did not even recognize him as Melly's brother, face flushed and mouth turned into a sneer.

For the briefest moment, she thought that she detected madness once again in his flashing brown eyes.

"Please, Charlie! I love him. Despite everything that's gone so terribly wrong between us, I love him."

He stared up at the ceiling, tears coursing down his cheeks. "God forgive me. How many times have I forgotten myself, lost myself in my own agony. I cursed the Almighty more times than I can count for the torment He saw fit to heap upon me. For taking away my wife, my entire existence. For ruining me as a man. For driving you into the arms of Frank Kennedy and Rhett Butler." His voice was a whisper as he leaned down close to her again. "For taking my most beloved sister from me before I could see her sweet face once more." He shuddered, and his eyes became dark. "I could have made you happy, Scarlett. And I would never have treated you thus. Butler has poisoned you with his opulence, his dark deals - he has twisted your mind until you believe yourself to be something that you most certainly are not."

She gazed into his eyes and shook her head. "That's not so, Charlie. We are so, so similar, Rhett and I. Cut from the same cloth."

"That's not true."

"I'm not the girl you married. That girl no longer exists." She winced in pain as she attempted to sit up. Charles sat down on the bed, and moved up behind her, his body brushing hers as he laid a hand upon her shoulder.

"I searched for you, you know. I was staying at Belle Watling's house, and I saw you once, with Butler on the street. And I went to your house. Saw you in the window. And when I heard he was taking you to Charleston, I followed."

Scarlett closed her eyes, shaken by the truth that despite all the years between them, Charles still loved her with the passion and perseverance of youth.

"I would have searched for you, Charlie, had I any idea. I thought you were dead. I… I had to go on with my life. Had I only known-"

"You couldn't have known, Scarlett. It was not surprising that you went on living. My only regret is that it had to be Butler. Tell me, Scarlett, just one thing, please."

His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen as she returned his gaze.

"Did you ever love me? Or did you agree to marry me out of excitement over the war?"

She blinked and swallowed hard, not willing to give him an entirely truthful answer. He regarded her with so much love, even still, and she felt her heart break at the prospect of hurting the man who reminded her so much of Melly.

"Right," he cleared his throat. "That was not a fair question and I apologize. I was just curious."

"I'm so sorry-"

"Please, do not apologize, my dear. It would not do to upset yourself." He reached for a blanket from the foot of the bed and covered her. "Here, you looked cold. I don't deserve you, Scarlett. There isn't a man alive who is worthy of you. Rhett Butler is an extremely lucky man. And I shan't stand between him and the woman who loves him and is carrying his child."

At the very moment he finished speaking, both of their attention turned towards the opened door - the sound of heavy footfalls reverberated through the hallway, preceding the loud voices that followed.

"Cap'n Butler not to be disturbed suh!"

"Get out of my way," demanded a man's voice. "The sheriff needs to have a word with him. Charges stem from tax evasion to money laundering."

"You forgot the matter of the bigamous marriage, Sheriff," another man chimed in, the voice of whom Charles recognized immediately.

Robert Butler had found him.


	18. Danger vs Angel

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>*Your reviews give me a great deal of insight and (hopefully) help me tell a better tale. Please enjoy, and keep the feedback coming!*<p>

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><p>Chapter 18:<p>

Rhett could feel himself awakening from a fog. Those terrible days after Bonnie's death that he had spent years desperately struggling to forget, memories of Scarlett's fall and miscarriage, times when he had been little more sane than poor Charles Hamilton had been at his very worst. The memories rushed back at him as he lay there in the dark, still feeling the effects of the bottle of whiskey he had downed after Scarlett fell - the second time. And for the second time, he had done nothing to prevent it. And now, for all he knew, his ineptitude could have killed her and their child.

Nightmares continued to plague him as he lay twisted in his sheets, incapable of speech and movement, thoughts held hostage inside his head. Until he heard her voice.

Miss Melly had come to save him.

Miss Melly with her angel's face, her halo of pale hair, her voice, like the music of angels, had spirited him out of his stupor. He needed her now, just as he had needed her then.

_She appeared around dawn, draped in a soft, flowing white cotton shawl, a candle held aloft in one hand. "There now," she said, "now, Bonnie won't have to lay here in the dark." _

"_Could I prevail upon you to sleep, Captain Butler?" came her whispered words, and she bent over him, regarding his pale face and wasted eyes. "I'll sit with Bonnie and make quite certain that she's not alone or frightened."_

_Her smell washed over him, so sweet and clean and feminine. He felt dizzy and desperate, but when his mouth opened to angrily contradict her, something about her enraptured him. She was so child-like herself, yet so infinitely wise. She looked frightened, tentative. Of what, he wondered._

_Of him, of course. _

_She brushed a tendril of hair from Bonnie's face. _

"_There now, angel. You could just be sleeping."_

_Then, she had turned to him, and lightly ran her fingers over his hand. "I'm certain that Scarlett did not mean to be cruel, Captain Butler. She said what she did out of anger, and her broken heart. You must not believe that she has deserted you. Trust me, Captain Butler, she needs you so…"_

Lying in the dark, he thought: "Don't go, Miss Melly, please. Don't go."

Gathering all his strength, he whispered aloud, "Miss Melly?"

"Rhett!"

A form moved toward him through the shadows and he focused hard on his brother's face. Robert regarded him as a cat who has cornered its prey. Rhett felt his very heart climb into his throat. They were caught. Then, the younger man reached out and took Rhett's hand in his; the corners of his mouth upturned into a sneer.

"Where is Charles Hamilton? I know that he's here. What have you done with him?"

"You know no such thing," Rhett stared his brother down.

"Well, I suppose that is debatable. You could have killed him, I suppose. Or bribed him to stay away…"

Rhett continued to watch his brother as Robert took a seat in a chair next to the window and crossed his legs. There was something in his demeanor which unnerved Rhett.

"Well, whatever you've done with him will come to light soon enough. The sheriff is waiting for you downstairs. I informed him that you were too slobbering drunk to receive him. Tut, tut, Rhett, what will Mother think? Get up, won't you? Spare yourself the humiliation of being dragged."

Rhett proceeded to kick away the covers and roll from the bed. The room spun, and suddenly, Robert was there, doing his best to force him toward the door.

"Where's my wife?" Rhett bellowed.

"Not your wife, Rhett. Charles's. Now what have you done with him?"

"Get the hell away from me!"

Rhett shoved Robert aside and stumbled to his feet, then grabbed the post of the bed for support.

"Tell me what you've done with him, Rhett!"

"I haven't done a damned thing with him! Get out of my way!"

"He's gone, sir," came a man's voice from the hallway. "No trace of Hamilton, nor Mrs. -er- Butler, nor the two children. Captain Butler is alone in the house with the exception of the servants. They're all gone. This was left on Mrs. Butler's bed."

A white envelope, sealed. Scarlett's writing. _Rhett_, written in her hand on the front.

_Gone._

Unsteadily, Rhett turned. "You did this!"

Robert twisted his hand in Rhett's shirt, pulling him close as he glared into his eyes. "I did nothing of the kind! More likely you hatched an escape plan but were too drunk to carry it out. Either that, or your wife decided that she'd be better off with her first husband…"

"You don't," Rhett said through clenched teeth, "speak of such things." With a perverse stab of pleasure, he noted that Robert let out a gasp and seemed to turn pale.

"Charles isn't stupid, Rhett. He's a goddamned lunatic. I wonder how you could have left him near your wife and stepchildren while they were alone and vulnerable. Charles probably had a carriage waiting for the first opportunity."

With all the strength he could muster, Rhett shoved his brother away, causing him to send the night table he had crashed into toppling to the floor.

The door flew open and the sheriff and two other men rushed in.

"What's going on in here?" The sheriff ran towards Rhett.

"Get out!" he growled. "Get out of my house! Now, where is my wife? What have you done with her?"

"Truthfully, I know nothing. How could I?"

The sheriff looked befuddled and addressed the younger Butler brother. "Am I now to believe that Mrs. Butler is now missing? Mr. Butler … the younger Mr. Butler, if you please… I would be much obliged if you would afford me an explanation. You assured me that I was entering your brother's home for a reason and I see none."

Rhett shook his head, feeling that perhaps Charles had been smarter than he had given him credit for … if he could only play his cards right.

"My apologies, Sheriff. My wife left on the morning train, along with my stepchildren. I was unable to accompany them by virtue of having far, far too much to drink. As for my brother's wild assertion that my wife's first husband was here, that is something that he has clearly dreamed up. He's always had an overactive imagination."

"You're a damned liar!" Robert snapped. "Sheriff, you can arrest him for the other charges."

"Mr. Butler, you have awoken me from my bed before dawn because of your _insistence_ that your brother was holding some sort of hostage in the form of his wife's husband. It's a load of rubbish, sir, as your brother has stated. Now, as for any of these other charges you mentioned, they are alleged to have occurred in Atlanta, not here in Charleston. Therefore, I am inclined to believe that I am not in my jurisdiction at all. That said, sir, I'll see myself out, along with you and your fellows."

"If you would be so kind, sir," Rhett addressed the sheriff politely, "as to escort my brother's associates out, I'd like a very brief word with my brother."

"Very good, sir." the sheriff nodded, "Let's go, boys."

"What will you do now?" Robert demanded, a whisper of panic in his voice as soon as the bedroom door slammed shut.

As Rhett continued to glare into his brother's flashing eyes, a realization slammed him. As if Robert knew it, he sank more deeply into his seat, his fingers digging into the arms of the chair in preparation of what was to come.

"You told Charles about Wade. He said it, and it didn't register with me at the time. You told him that Wade was his and that he should claim him! That's why he came here in the first place. Despise me he must, but he never would have left without seeing his son. You manipulative bastard! And he's taken Scarlett, in her condition. My God! If she dies, so help me God, I will tear you to pieces with my bare hands."

"Where do you imagine he might have taken her?"

"I'm not sure. But I intend to find him, and bring them home."

"And if your wife will not return with you? What good will crawling on your belly to her do?" Robert's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer toward Rhett. "If I loved a woman so obsessively as you do your wife, why wouldn't you have moved heaven and earth to keep her from Charles - when you knew him to be alive? Why send him to Belle's, when you were living in Atlanta under his very nose. You're hiding something else, I know it. And I bet that Charles knows it, too. Why else would you ride out of Atlanta with your ill wife like a bat out of hell, then return here to Charleston, all in the open? I'll stake that you didn't tell Scarlett that Charles was still living. Just what kind of man would keep that information from the woman he supposedly _loved_? Unless, of course, you were not confident of her affections for you."

"She loves me."

"If that were the case, why didn't you stop her before she retrieved him from the lunatic house? She wouldn't have believed you, would she? Since you had made it so very clear that you no longer wanted her. I saw her in Atlanta, Rhett, right after you had left her the first time. She looked quite alone, indeed."

"This is another manipulation-"

"Most importantly," Robert leaned toward him, "why would you have ever left her in the first place?"

"I ... don't know. Perhaps..." Rhett struggled with his thoughts, rubbing his temple with a trembling hand. "I don't know. But it's none of your damn business what transpired between my wife and I-"

Robert raised an eyebrow. "All of Atlanta knew. What makes me so different?"

Rhett's hands were shaking and he felt his strength drain from him and fell back into his chair. Why? It made no sense. Robert wasn't behind it, clearly, or he'd be gloating in triumph. Would have expounded upon his misery and humilation. But Robert was as surprised as he was.

Damn Charles Hamilton.

"Get out. And if you ever cross my path again, God help you, brother."

Robert stood and moved toward the door, where he paused and looked back.

"What if you were to find her? And what if she had chosen him over you? You'd never convince her to trust you again. Not only would she despise you, believing as she no doubt will after listening to poor old Charlie that you were involved in condemning him, but now, she'll no doubt loathe you for it. You know, Rhett, Charles Hamilton has shown himself more a man than you. Strange, eh?"

"Get out!"

"Go to hell." Robert said, then slammed the door behind him.

At last, Rhett was left alone.

Completely, utterly alone.

With no Miss Melly to save him from himself.


	19. Tortured, Tangled Hearts

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>Reviews and messages are so much fun to receive and I <strong>sincerely<strong> thank all of you for reading! Please continue to submit your feedback!

*I hope that you enjoy - Part III*

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><p>Chapter 19:<p>

**. . .**

Nassau, Bahamas

_Six Months Later_

At long last, Rhett Butler was alone. Mammy, Pork, and Dilcey had gone back to Tara. His brother, to Hell, for all that he cared. Scarlett, disappeared, along with the children. Vanished, without a trace. He had searched first Charleston, then New Orleans, then back to Atlanta and Jonesboro. Nothing. Not even a whisper. Even when he had held a pistol to Ashley Wilkes's neck with a threat to kill him without a second thought if he did not disclose their whereabouts - nothing. Ashley had sniveled, thrown his hands up in despair, and begged for mercy. He had heard nothing, and there was no lie in his eyes. No, Charles Hamilton was gone, and Scarlett, Wade, and Ella along with him.

For the first time in his adult life, Rhett Butler was completely, utterly alone. A fact which terrified him more than any near-death experience of his youth.

So, he took Kin Martin up on his offer of respite. Why not wait, Kin had said. What if Charles had a plan, he had said as well. And what if, Rhett had responded, Scarlett is already dead - Kin had acquiesced the point, but then countered with the assertion that although Charles Hamilton had been lately mad, Charles Hamilton was a Hamilton of Atlanta and would never hold a woman captive against her will. As Kin had ever-so-delicately put it: perhaps Scarlett just did not want to be found.

And that fact was what had thrust Rhett to the very brink of self destruction. The ultimate irony, was it not? That Scarlett had turned her nose up at him, her supposed love, for that of a sad-eyed man who was still a boy despite the manifold horrors in his past. And Wade and Ella, his dear children. Where were they now? In the gutter? Where?

So, in March, unable to do anything more than languish in his mother's house, Rhett Butler, now acquitted of all inquiry by the federal government, had boarded a ship bound for Nassau, where he would take his cousin up on his offer of hospitality.

As he reposed in the wicker rocking chair on the veranda, overlooking the clear blue ocean, he watched as Kin himself approached, his eyes downcast and shoulders slumped as his wooden leg lumbered along with the rest of him. Beyond him waited a carriage that would take the doctor who had been attending India and their new babe from Pinewood, Kin's estate, and back to the port city.

"Well?" Rhett asked without much interest either way.

"I have a daughter," Kin said, greeting his cousin with a smile. "India desires to call her Melanie, but I have intervened and secured for her the more eloquent sounding _Emelia_. So Emelia Marguerite Martin, she shall be. That way, her sister-in-law is honored, and my daughter will fit in with the other girls on the island when she's … Cousin? Can I get you something? Anything?"

"What about a loaded pistol?" Rhett said sarcastically. "Then I can get it over with."

"Rhett -"

"Ease yourself, I'm just being an ass. Sit down, won't you?"

Kin nodded and took a heavy seat in the accompanying chair which Rhett had motioned. His spine was stiff and his expression tempered with concern as a warm breeze tussled his jet black hair.

Rhett stared at his cousin, regarding him with a hint of fondness. "No need to treat me with kid gloves, Kin. You needn't hold your joy in on my account."

"Well, damn it all, Rhett. It's not right and you know it. You should have a baby yourself about now and -"

He held up his hand to silence him.

"No point in revisiting it, Kin. No point. My child is dead, and Scarlett … Well …God knows."

"I had hoped," Kin adjusted his necktie nervously, "I had hoped that you might be agreeable to serving as my daughter's godfather. But if you cannot, I understand completely."

"I greatly appreciate your hospitality, Kin. And I'll be the baby's godfather. But why you think me worthy is another point completely. A man who abandons his wife, loses his children …" Rhett's face disappeared behind his large hands as Kin sat, watching.

"I thought that you might return to Charleston, Rhett. It was always nice 'round this time of year."

Rhett nodded and smoothed back his hair as he allowed his gaze to roam past Kin and out toward the sandy beach and beyond.

"April. Yes, it is that."

There was a moment of silence, then, "Rhett, can I ask you something?"

Rhett nodded, and Kin chose not to meet his cousin's gaze, looking instead past him and out over the horizon.

"Rhett?" Kin began gently, "What are you to do now? Do you intend to remain here with us? Wasting away? Spending your life guzzling my liquor - alone? Would you not at least entertain the idea of going to your mother or brother - for help, I mean? For locating Scarlett-"

"No."

Kin sighed. "Very well, then." He cleared his throat. "What about the children, then? Wade and Ella? Have you considered the possibility that they could have been searching for you?"

A heavy wave of grief threatened to overtake Rhett, and he let out a choking sound which vibrated with emotion, then stopped and cleared his throat.

"Hopeless, I'm afraid. They'll do what their mother tells them. And now Wade has both parents - unless - unless Scarlett is dead."

"You fear then, that she is?"

"Only a matter of time, I suppose, Kin."

He looked up into the sky, a brilliant blue streaked only by white clouds, which reminded him of the cotton Scarlett cherished so very much. "Besides, even if she is not dead, she is clearly content with him, with whatever existence he's created for her."

"If only you could have reached Charles directly-"

"But I can't. I've searched the continental United States and found nothing."

"You mustn't give up hope-"

"Why the hell not? What point is there? Why should I? She's made it clear that she has no interest in being found. Believe you me, Kin, if she did, she would find a way to get rid of Charles. And how can I blame her, really? I've done nothing but lie to her over the years. I've single-handedly managed to murder our children. How can I blame her? I can't. Especially considering…"

The memory of the note she had left cut through his brain like an icicle. _Rhett, I have had a miscarriage and can endure no more. I go now, to fulfill a promise I made long ago. All my love, Scarlett_

"Besides, she's been through enough, thanks to me. And even if I could find Charles, Kin, I don't think I could handle seeing her with him. I'd likely kill him first. And then, I'd have to look into those eyes of hers and see how much she must truly despise me."

Kin's face flushed as he shifted in his chair and finally turned his eyes back toward Rhett.

"That is bull."

"What?"

"Bull_shit_, Rhett!"

Rhett raised an eyebrow, feigning offense at the sudden forcefulness of Kin's tone.

"You know what I mean, cousin! You haven't spoken to Scarlett! You have no idea where she is or what he's done to her! Besides, I myself read the note that she left and I can't for a minute fathom that you can deduce by it what she's thinking or feeling!"

"It's more than apparent, I think. She didn't return to Charleston, or to Atlanta or even Tara for that matter. Why should she? She loathes me for lying to her, even if my doing it did allow us to be together again." He heaved a sigh, then watched a flurry of seagulls as they lifted into the sky. "Perhaps if the child hadn't died …"

"Perhaps another child would have mended whatever wounds the two of you have inflicted upon one another over the years, perhaps not. But that does not even begin to explain why you are here, again, drinking yourself stupid on _my_ liquor," Kin attempted a wry smile, "but you keeping staying here …And I know that you continue to love her. That, my friend, is never going to change."

Pursing his thick lips, Kin glared at him, "You stay and drink and debauch and whore around with anything with a cunt. Hardly the behavior of a man who so frantically scoured the entire country for months attempting to find his missing wife."

"If she wanted to be found -"

"Shut up, Rhett. For once in your life, shut up and hear me. It's easier for you this way, isn't it? Just as you did when it was you doing the leaving - to blame all wrongdoing on her and come running with your tail between your legs."

"What do you mean?" Rhett growled, his eyes narrowed.

"You've not been right since you first met her, that much is obvious. But it's clear that something transpired between the two of you after you returned with little Bonnie from London. Since then, you've handled the issue of Scarlett with kid gloves, even, even back when you hated her to the very core. And that wasn't so long ago, Rhett. I recall a conversation before my marriage …"

"I remember."

"Do you? You were in big trouble. Demanding a divorce …"

"I remember, goddamit."

"But then Charles came back - and you took off for Tara like a confused and bitter enigma who was willing to sacrifice not only Hamilton's sanity, but your very freedom. Taking on Robert, God rot him … and then there's the matter of Ashley, with whom you've cut off all contact, although you and I both know that if there's a breath of Scarlett's whereabouts, Ashley will be the first to know …"

"And that," Rhett smiled wryly, "is why I trust you to keep me informed, if that was the case."

"Why should I? If you try to shoot my brother-in-law once and then refuse to open or answer his letters later, why should I waste my breath?"

"His goddamned letters. Filled with love and salutation for the family, I presume? Forgive me for refusing to exchange pleasantries with Ashley, Kin. He might be your family but he is not mine. Never mine. Understand this, Kin, I have no family."

"Why the hell are you drinking my liquor and taking up a room in my house, then?"

Rhett didn't answer, shooting him a glare.

"Could it be, perhaps, a case of 'out of sight, out of mind?' Yes Rhett, I believe that it is. Ashley must be somehow related to whatever funny business you tried to pull with Charles's little disappearing act. Perhaps you paid him to help you - and keep his mouth shut to Scarlett, whom you had to convince that poor old Charlie was dead? That would explain why you returned from Atlanta with so much fury and frustration toward him. Of course, if you had shot him, I don't think that I would have been allowed to receive you …"

"You think too much," Rhett retorted sharply, the truth of his cousin's words having turned the warm air cold about his face.

Kin leaned toward him, his black eyes flashing. "You have defied people all your life, Rhett. Your father, Robert, Charleston, the whole world …you've fought tooth and nail for your independence, yet you loved a woman named Scarlett O'Hara to such distraction that your were willing to sacrifice that very freedom in order to marry her. And yet, she remains _out there_, and you sequester yourself here with me, and with the sister of the man with whom you battled so long for Scarlett's affection. You've hidden here for months, refusing to face the music. That's damned cowardly, Rhett, if you ask me."

"I don't recall asking you," Rhett snapped.

Kin's eyebrows drew together as he continued glaring at his cousin. Finally, he gave a quick nod and stood, smoothing his hands down over his jacket. "Very well. I suppose that I have little else to offer. My rum stores are depleted, if you catch my drift."

Rhett did not watch as Kin strode back into the house, but sank deeper into his chair, outstretching his long legs, wanting nothing more than to let the hot sun absorb some of his guilt and loneliness and aching for Scarlett. Kin had been right, of course, in his logic. Never try to get anything past a pirate, Rhett smirked in spite of himself. That same pirate was smarter than him, apparently. What a bitter irony that Kin, his pirate cousin, a bastard son of his pirate grandfather's bastard son, should be blessed with a loving wife and a healthy baby daughter, while his Bonnie and two other unborn babies …

He recalled an oath, an old favorite of Scarlett's: _God's Nightgown!_ He laughed aloud, "God's nightgown, when did Rhett Butler become such a damned coward?"

Kin was right. For the first time in his life, he had allowed himself to be rendered helpless. _Out of sight, out of mind_. He was correct there, as well. Although, he had trusted that Ashley would move mountains to ascertain that he knew it if Scarlett made any sort of contact. He didn't need to communicate with the man, with the memory of his embittered past… And yet, here he sat, head aching from yet another night of drinking himself into oblivion in attempt to numb himself from the pain which gnawed in his chest.

He deserved this sorry life. Misery. Ignominy. He would have done himself and his cousin and Scarlett herself a favor if he had only possessed the inner fortitude to have put a bullet in his brain.

He turned his face toward the sun. The memories of Scarlett were always there, haunting him. He had imagined taking her to this very place, to have watched Wade and Ella play in the sand while she suckled their baby, the new baby. Her green eyes would have flashed up at him as the child nursed his (for it was always a boy in his dreams) meal at her breasts, succulent like ripe plums. Scarlett. Without her, he was lost.

A sudden and too familiar sense of desperation roused inside of him. He jumped from the chair and strode with fierce determination along the cobbled footpath until he reached the stables and ordered the closest groom to saddle a horse for his use.

He looked through the stable door and back up toward Kin's grand house with its terra cotta roof of Spanish tile, which silhouetted against the blue sky. Cursing under his breath, he mounted the readied animal and mumbled instructions to the colored groom to tell Kin of his immediate departure.

"You go, suh?" the man attempted to clarify.

"If I'm lucky, I can board a boat to Charleston. Then back home. Home to Atlanta."

He rode the five miles round the main road of the Island, bypassing the pathway by which any acquaintance of Kin's might be traveling, thereby sparing himself the precious time that would have been taken up in congratulations lofted upon _him_ for his cousin's good fortune. Irony, irony, Rhett thought to himself, funny how these Islanders loved Kin, although he was a retired pirate and they knew it. And India knew it, of all the damnable things. Proud, holier-than-thou India. His relative by marriage. Wife to a pirate. He urged the horse forward on the pebbly paths that the Spanish had built, which were disappearing slowly as more houses and resorts sprang up. Reaching the end, he paused, and urged the horse towards the dock. He saw no ships boarding, small or large. Not even a fishing vessel.

"Not t'morrow." A crusty-faced tar bellowed from his snoozing spot at the dock's end. "End o' de week at earlies'"

He stared down at the empty harbor, too ashamed to show his face back at Kin's house. Of course, he cursed himself for his stupidity, of course there wouldn't be any ships so early in the week. What day was it, Monday, Tuesday? He had lost count.

He pulled on his reins, turning the horse around and heading towards town, with no particular destination in mind, simply allowing the animal to select the course and avoiding the thoughts which clashed in his mind. He ran through his handful of leads, the supposed sightings in Virginia, in New Orleans, and even in Florida …

He reached the end of the road and ran directly into the entrance of the Grand Victoria, a hotel which he had stayed in before. Once during the war, and again when he had first arrived in Nassau this trip, too drunk to ride on to Kin's.

He dismounted, sweating heavily from the heat of the afternoon. A valet waited at the gates and snapped his fingers at the Negro boy loitering at his feet.

"Take the horse," the man instructed, his voice clipped with a British accent. "Sir? Welcome to the Grand Victoria. A room, sir?"

Rhett shrugged. "Perhaps later. A drink first."

"The lounge is adjacent to the lobby, sir," the valet said, bowing slightly. "Sir."

"Thank you," Rhett muttered, passing through the glass doors with little ceremony and locating the bar without further instruction. He called for the barman, who was unloading heavy oaken crates of bourbon. "A shot of that," Rhett indicated, sitting down on the barstool and glancing over a discarded newspaper. The headline caught his attention.

**SOUTH CAROLINA CONGRESSIONAL RACE DECIDED EARLY BY BUTLER PULL-OUT**

Rhett's eyes flashed as he observed the date of the paper, March 5. Nearly three weeks old. He skimmed over the front page and was overcome with laughter as he beheld his brother Robert's miserable face, tinted red so noticeable that Rhett could see it even in the black and white newspaper. According to the article, an anonymous letter had been submitted to the Post and Courier, indicating that Robert had been involved in a large-scale scheme to defraud the Federal government as well as a multitude of private citizens, including, Rhett almost choked on his bourbon, his embattled brother, Rhett Butler, "Confederate war hero."

"I'll be goddamned." Rhett muttered. But who?

He put a crisp greenback on the bar and left his drink unfinished. He walked back into the hotel lobby, swelling with patrons and reluctantly looked around. The idea that a three week old paper would be sitting at the bar was not an extraordinary fact in and of itself, but the idea that it would be one from Charleston _and_ regarding a subject of such sensitivity to him set Rhett's teeth on edge. Surely not. Surely, surely not.

He took in a deep breath of salty sea air, which flooded in from the doors, propped open for ventilation, and heard the throaty laughter of a man.

And there he stood. A stranger, but vaguely familiar. He stared directly at Rhett, a kind smile on his face. Then he shouted, "Hurry! You haven't much time."

Then, he disappeared through the doors, into the crowd of people who had gathered.


	20. Let Him Fly

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>I've been so very busy with school, so I apologize to all my loyal readers for the delay in posting - this is a very short update, but it's an important part of the story. I hope that you enjoy - and please, do drop a review by with your thoughts!<p>

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><p>Chapter 20:<p>

The sweet breath the baby boy emitted as Scarlett kissed his rosy soft cheeks made her heart ache, although she smiled as she did it, singing a soft lullaby to coax her little man to sleep. She had what she had lost: a child. A decent man who would care for her and cherish her.

Although, on that matter, she knew that she could never be a wife for him, despite all of his help, his soft assurances that Rhett would surely return for her. His more emphatic assurances that he would never attempt to rob her of that love, which burned as brightly as it had six months prior, when she and Charles and Wade and Ella had crept out into the bright dawn light and hidden in the woods for two days. They had returned to find the place ransacked and Rhett missing, so for safety's sake, with Robert Butler on the loose and desperately searching for Charles, they had boarded a train to Savannah, then to Macon, Georgia, before finally returning to Tara. Rhett will find us here, Scarlett had insisted. He knew her better than anyone, and he certainly would know that she would always return home. She had given birth the day after they returned, to a big baby boy: named Rhett for his father and Charles for the man who had delivered them to safety. Suellen and Will had both sent wires to Rhett's mother's house in Charleston with thinly veiled hints regarding their whereabouts; and receiving no reply, attempted to send the same to the bank where Rhett worked in Atlanta as well as to his solicitor's office in New Orleans.

Nothing. And six months later, still nothing.

She turned to see Charles standing at her bedroom door. He seemed to look directly at her, but through her. Those same haunted brown eyes, as though he sought to read her very soul.

"Six months today, Scarlett," he said quietly. "You've waited six months, and no sign of him…and you continue to shield your heart from me. Why?"

She faced him squarely, but said nothing.

"Why?" he repeated, "You…could learn to love me. I could never take back the years, the suffering…but I could love you."

She saw written all over his face despair and empty sadness. That doting smile he had emitted for Wade and Ella and Will and Sue's children a few moments before was nothing more than an attempt to conceal his own hurt that she did not, could not, and would not grow to love him. And he deserved to know why.

"It's Rhett, isn't it? You put your faith in him instead of me - well where is he, Scarlett? Even after I sent in the letters incriminating Robert, even after I wrote the editorial in the Charleston Herald, lying through my teeth about what a magnificent war hero he was - well, short of hunting him down myself, I cannot think of another method to determine his whereabouts or convince him to return!"

"You've done more than enough - Charlie - I am so very grateful and - "

"But I'm not Butler, am I? No. I am not."

Her heart seared with a fierce pain at missing Rhett.

"I didn't ask you to, Charlie. But I'm not the same girl you married. I'm not naïve and innocent. Even if you and I …well…even if, there wouldn't be a moment that you wouldn't look at me and think of-"

"What, Butler? He's done enough damage, has he not? Refusing to return and making it so damned hard for me - when Wade's standing right next to me, his own," Charles's voice lowered to the very softest of whispers, for they had not spoken the truth to their son yet, "…father… and yet, he yearns for his _Uncle_ Rhett with every fiber of his being. To know that I'm living with the woman I married, living the life that was stolen from me only to be further still burdened by the shadow of Rhett Butler…wherever he may be."

"Hush, Charlie," Scarlett put one finger up to his lips to silence him. "Don't wake the baby, I've only just gotten him to sleep."

"Scarlett, I beg you to think about it. I told you once that I would do anything in the world for you, and I've done all I can to convince you that my feelings are unchanged…if you would only…think on it."

"Alright, Charlie," she gave him a forced small smile, "I'll think on it."

His face momentarily brightened and he stood up, then stroked her cheek tenderly, then left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

She glanced back at the sleeping baby in his cradle, then at the door. She was so very lonely, despite the new baby and all of the constant activity at Tara. She was so very empty, and she dreaded the part of each day when she would say goodnight to Charlie, Sue and Will and the children, and climb into the big bed that she had slept in as a child, utterly alone. Not that she didn't have one husband at her beck and call.

Yet… She wanted Rhett. She yearned for his touch, his arms around her. Wanton fantasies would fill her mind at night, wild, erotic, glorious moments reenacting themselves within her mind every time she closed her eyes. Shamefully, she realized that Charlie could never begin to fill that need. But where was Rhett? This very moment he could even be dead now, lying spread-eagle in some ditch, a victim of Robert's schemes or some crazed lunatic. He could have gotten lost in the woods somewhere, searching for her in the winter snow. She chided herself for her delusions - there was no woods for him to get lost in. If Rhett wanted to find her, he would. And that scared her most of all.

She tried to banish the thought from her mind; she needed to breath, and felt that all air had left her lungs. Flinging open the window, she was hit by a gust of cold wind, and odd sensation gripped her. The fog was swirling around, forming shadows in the mist, framed by the wind -

"Rhett?"

She bolted from the room and down the stairs and from the house, running halfway down the long avenue and into the blast of wind. She felt her skirts whip behind her and all her hair came loose from its pins, tumbling down her back in waves. The wind caused tears to form in her eyes, and she felt short of breath from running.

Nothing.

No more tears, she told herself. No more pretense. Rhett was not going to return for her. He was as dead as was their sweet daughter. She blinked and looked up into the sky, thinking that even Melly had deserted her.

_Be kind to him - well how about being kind to me? He's done nothing but lie to me; he lied about Charlie, about his brother, about everything - and now he's abandoned us, Melly._

There was no response, aside from the rushing wind.

Charlie loved her. She had to acknowledge the reality of it. He loved her, still. Devotedly. And perhaps with time, she would love him, too. And he would cherish Rhett's son just as much as he already had grown to cherish Wade and Ella.

She felt a male presence behind her and felt Charles's hand on her arm.

"Are you alright? Scarlett, whatever happened?"

She smiled up at him weakly, "I seem to have been chasing after a ghost."

He looked rigid and worried, and put his arm around her to take her back inside.

"Wait," she said slowly. "Charlie…I have…I've thought about it."

"And?" he said anxiously.

"I'm ready…to be your wife."


	21. Truth

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>As always, thank you all so very much for the reviews!<p>

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><p>Chapter 21:<p>

Detective Boyce Allard, Pinkterton Agency, was the unofficial liaison of United States Department of Justice to the English commandant of the Bahamas, and had made a sizable profit in the course of his two year post. Rhett's own opinion of the man, who was his junior by a good twenty-seven years, was that he was a remarkably shrewd son of a bitch. A pragmatic, egotistical, flippant, cocksure stripling with the tout-ensemble of a politician-in-training, for all of the younger man's assurances that his interests lay solely in investigative work. And what work it was! Shrouded in a cloud of secrecy, it had been whispered for years that the Pinkertons were being sublet by the federal government to enact the more distasteful actions of the powers with discretion and silence. Allard was that if not anything else - strong and silent...and absent.

He had been shown into the shadowed building at the end of the high street by a harried looking valet and then had heard the key turn as the man left, no doubt to report to some superior. But where the devil was Boyce?

As Rhett paced the office where he had finally caught up with the other, awaiting an audience with his long-time acquaintance, the door opened after awhile and none other than Kin peeked in, looking surprised.

"I just got a note that you were here...I must say, I was surprised."

"From?"

"Our mutual acquaintance."

"You can say his name, Kin -"

"Rhett," Kin said warningly, "Control yourself."

"You're working with him, aren't you? That's why you've got more money than God all of the sudden. You're giving the Pinkertons all the local gossip on the Brits and keeping your pirate friends happy by throwing the Commandant off their tails."

"Well, I've never been one to speak ill of free enterprise."

"Me either, Kin, but I've learned something about caution in recent years."

"About time," came a younger voice from the back of the room.

Both Rhett and Kin turned at the same time, just quick enough to witness the portrait behind the large oak desk swing around to reveal a hidden passageway, out of which Boyce Allard emerged, then, just as precipitously as he had entered, reverted the painting to normal and took a seat behind the desk. He motioned to the decanter on his desk and indicated that both men should sit down in the high-backed chairs opposite his.

"Hello, Boyce," Kin smiled and offered his hand, beaming a tremendous smile as he did.

"Kin. I hear that congratulations are in order. How is the child?"

If Kin was taken aback that Allard already knew the good news before he had had a chance to tell him, he did not show it, only grinning, "Very well. Thanks for asking, Boyce."

"And the wife? Is she well?"

"Very well," Kin nodded his head.

Allard then took the first piece of paper from the stack sitting atop his desk and skimmed over it, then looked up at Rhett.

"Is something wrong, Uncle Rhett?"

Rhett's eyes narrowed slightly, "What the hell was all that business at the hotel? Why could you not have come to me directly - since you're clearly in touch with _him_!" He jerked his thumb in the direction of Kin, who guffawed, "He certainly has not. I've not seen him since he's been back on the island."

"Back?" Rhett said sharply. "Where did he go?"

Allard cleared his throat. "Allow me to explain, Uncle Rhett. My position here is very covert, and my cover would have been blown completely had any other Pinkertons seen me talking to you on the street. You were, after all, only lately wanted by state and federal authorities for tax evasion. You still owe eight thousand, by the by. But that shouldn't be too hard to clear up after Robert goes to prison and you sue him for blackmail. We've managed to track his accounts in various foreign banks, so you should get it all back… did you read the article I left in the bar?"

"You always had a flair for the subtle."

"Subtle! I thought it was a rather brilliant stroke. And I thought you'd recognize me."

"How could I not?" Rhett murmured as the very image of his younger brother swam before him, a carbon copy, really, with the slightest trace of Isabella Allard, alias Belle Watling - medium length dark hair, slightly curly, the Butler black eyes, well chiseled features and a supreme smirk on his face.

"So I was right?" Kin was saying excitedly. "I was right all along, although you were not in cahoots with Ashley, as I had thought, but Boyce! It makes perfect sense now. You knew about Charles because Robert was blackmailing you to keep quiet about him -"

"Close," Allard interjected. "I was one of the agents who discovered Charles and brought him to my superiors. Robert, the bastard," he said the man's name through gritted teeth, "…took his name and information and positively wet himself with glee." He paused and explained for Kin's benefit, "Robert was the South Carolina Assistant Attorney General before he became interested in politics…and since most of the men in question were from South Carolina, he handled their cases - Anyway, I wrote to Uncle Rhett here immediately-"

"A risky gamble," Kin stroked his chin, "…for a young man with a lifelong career ahead."

Allard shrugged. "For my guardian…it seemed the right thing to do. Of course, I couldn't prevent Charles from returning, of course. But Uncle Rhett was banking on him being transferred quietly to the asylum."

"You didn't think Scarlett would know-"

"I underestimated the power that Miss Melly's kinship would have over her," Rhett said grudgingly, then looked up at Boyce Allard with a truly pathetic expression on his face. His hands began shaking slightly. "You have news for me, I suppose?"

Allard nodded, then cleared his throat.

"Do you? Then by all means, speak out, boy!" Kin interjected.

"I am pleased to inform you that the government has reason to suspect that the man who entered the United States under the alias of Charles Hamilton is not him, in fact."

"What?" Kin bellowed, "We were deceived?"

"No," Allard shook his head. "It may be him. It may not be him. But I have a sworn affidavit from an Atlanta physician, Doctor Gordon Meade, delivered the day he was committed that he is not -"

"Meade will retract-"

"Doesn't matter. Not to Washington. On paper, Hamilton is dead, and that's final. So, if Scarlett wants to marry him again, it'll have to be after she procures a divorce from you."

"Marry him, hell!"

"Shut up, Kin," Rhett clenched his teeth, then addressed Allard, "So …you know where she is …and she's…with him?"

"She's at her family's home, near Jonesboro."

"But Ashley swore!"

"Ashley Wilkes? An evasive, lying snake. At least until I flashed my badge and convinced him that it was in his best interest to tell me the truth."

"You went to Atlanta?"

"Indeed. After testifying at _dear_ Robert's indictment hearing. Ashley Wilkes had been called to, to give character evidence in the matter of clearing your name, Uncle Rhett."

"I bet he just loved that."

"He didn't, in fact. And he wanted to speak to me far less. But you know, I do not believe that he was acting on Charles's behalf."

"And what does that matter?" Rhett slouched slightly in his chair, avoiding meeting the eyes of either Boyce or Kin.

"I think that he is suggesting that you refrain from killing him, Rhett," Kin offered, "…and thereby assure that I will not have to shoot you on my wife's behalf."

Rhett barked a laugh. "Were he only worth the bullet…"

Boyce laughed hollowly, "I don't need to hear about your family squabbles. Knowing as you do now that Robert is going to do substantial time and can't touch you should ease your mind about reentering the country…and as for Charles, convince him to go on his way. Meet a nice girl…"

"That's why you're here!" Kin declared loudly, and Boyce confirmed, "Yes, he'd have been arrested the moment he set foot on U.S. soil."

"And you said nothing, why?"

Rhett locked his jaw and glared at his cousin. "Because I wanted her to come to me."

"You what -"

"I never gave her a choice before …" he paused, as the sick and dreaded realization sank in.

"But suppose she assumed that you had left -"

"I believe that she has," Boyce offered, standing up. "The banns have been posted in Jonesboro - a little country wedding, attended by family only - a Mrs. Scarlett Butler and a Mr. C. Burr. He must be going by an alias in case someone comes looking for him. That's why I needed to speak with you, Uncle Rhett …there really is very little time left -"

"Damn you!" Rhett twisted his hands and spoke, voice so loud that the other two men winced, "If I wanted your goddamn help I would have asked for it! Goddamned Charles! God damn Charles!"

"You're too goddamned proud yourself," Kin snapped back. "…but are you too proud to beg her forgiveness for fleeing the country without her?"

"I won't do it," Rhett said through gritted teeth.

"Make her love you. Try, just one last time."

Boyce swallowed, motioning toward the papers at his desk. "See these? These are the only proof of Charles's re-admittance into the States. The only reason they still exist is that Robert was using them to manipulate you. Should these papers …disappear…the only other persons who know with certainly are myself, Kin, you, and Robert…I doubt if anyone will be listening to him any time soon. And if Charles cannot prove in a court of law that he is who he says he is, you'll have your wife."

Rhett looked at the face of his former ward, his nephew by blood - the young man who had outwitted the father who had neglected him shamefully - thoughts scrambled through his mind. Without the documents that proved Charles's identity, Scarlett would be free once again, and he was liberated from all of Robert's manipulation… He lifted his head.

"Get rid of them."

Boyce nodded his head. "Consider it done, Uncle Rhett."

Kin heaved a loud sigh. "So you're going, then?"

Rhett nodded.

"There is one more thing," Boyce said in a deadly soft voice, "I wanted you to make an unbiased decision, but if you've made it already, I suppose I should tell you…"

Rhett's heart felt frozen in his chest.

"Scarlett's child…your son…is very much alive."


	22. Can't Hurry Love

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>I can't thank everybody that has read and reviewed enough for all of your support. This has been a roller coaster week, as my mother has been in the hospital and had surgery following a heart attack. It's been a blessing to escape into this story…and as we near its completion, thank you all so very much for the reviews! Hope you enjoy this!<p>

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><p>Chapter 22:<p>

"Mother? Mother?" Wade knocked on the door, but was clearly taken aback to see it already open and to see Charles sitting there, watching the baby boy in his crib. "Oh, excuse me, sir. I was looking for Mother. I didn't think you'd be here."

"Understandable," Charles said softly, eyes taking in the young man standing in the doorway. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I wanted to go riding, you know, before…"

Charles sighed. "If there's something you want to say, Wade -"

"Are you my father or not?"

"Does it matter to you?"

"Of course it does."

"What did your mother say?"

"She said that I could decide for myself. Ella says you were here before, last fall. But that you didn't know even yourself, let alone Mother or anyone else. Why now? Why wait this long?"

"Last fall…it's been that long? So it has, I suppose." Charles stood up and looked at his son. "I'm afraid I've rather lost track of time."

"Ella said you were captured…that you told her and Susie about it. But never me. I wonder why, sir?"

"Oh, you already know the answer to that, I suppose."

"What? I'm afraid that I don't."

"Let me ask you this, Wade Hampton Hamilton, do you speak to your Uncle Rhett with this tone?"

"When it's warranted," Wade retorted, but looked a little penitent. "But you never answered my question."

"Which of them? I suppose we should start with the first. Take a seat." Charles tapped on the bed and indicated that Wade should sit down next to him. The boy did so warily, glancing at the door as if to ascertain that they were quite alone.

"How old are you, Wade?"

"Fourteen. I'll be fifteen in February."

"Fourteen. The age I was when Uncle Henry decided that I would follow in the military tradition of my dearly departed father. So, I was sent to boarding school. To be Cadet Hamilton instead of Charlie or Charles does something to a young man's sense of himself, of his own agency. My first assent into adulthood came in the form of the rigid militarism with which I was handled by my father. A ramrod for a backbone, you understand. Bad temper…"

Wade smiled a little, "You mean, like Mother?"

Charles nodded. "I take it you know what I'm talking about."

"That was me, before Uncle Rhett. He told me that I should speak up, tell Mother that I had just as much of a say as she did in my education, and in everything else, for that matter."

"Now don't get all huffy. I realize that this is all a shock for you, and I am still struggling to get through it all myself. But you are asking for agency and I am giving you that, asking your opinion as I am now, man to man. What do you have to say?"

Wade attempted to ignore the look that his father gave him. He was clearly wanting him to answer with a resounding _yes_, that he didn't mind in the least that Uncle Rhett's memory even was being very quietly winnowed out - well, he would not give the man he barely knew the satisfaction, father or not, and he was firmly set on keeping to himself.

"There's nothing to say," he said nonchalantly. "I want Mother to be happy."

"And you think that she was happy with Rhett?" Charles said quietly. "Had a good marriage did they? Loving and filled with sweet words and tender care?"

"No," Wade had to admit. "Not always. But when he came back this time, he-"

"What? What did he do but lie to her in the hopes of saving his own skin."

"He wanted to take us with him. He told us!" Wade said emphatically, "He only left because the law was after him and he _had_ to! He would have never just abandoned us like that!"

"Oh. Well, I was under the impression that you saw very little of him in the two years between your Aunt Melly's passing and the previous fall."

"So you think that he came back because of you?"

"I think that you are right, Wade. I think that Rhett loved your mother very much. But not in the normal, healthy way which a man should love a woman, you understand? He was content to allow her to fend for herself, so long as she still belonged to him and him alone, not caring that-"

"Uncle Rhett cares!"

Charles attempted to put a hand on Wade's shoulder, but he jerked away. "And he will come back. You'll see. He always comes back. And he will this time."

"Wade, I don't know where he is-"

"It doesn't matter where he is! He will come back. He will."

With that, Wade stood up and marched toward the door.

Charles spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "And if he doesn't?"

"Even if he doesn't, don't you dare think for a minute that you'll have your son back. You're still dead to me, as far as I'm concerned."

He continued to fix Charles with his large brown eyes, his mouth twisting into a taut smile. Charles looked at the crib. At Wade. The crib again. Wade's eyes, the image of his own.

A realization dawned on him and it soured his stomach. Wade was right; Scarlett would no more love him now as she did the first time he had met her at the alter. She was as broken-hearted as a little bird whose wings have been clipped and can no longer fly - and try that he might to mend her, she would be forever under Butler's spell, just as Wade was…and Wade would never love him, or like him, for that matter…no so long as the boy thought that he was attempting to steal his mother away from Butler. And then the black-haired, black-eyed baby, that most innocent of creatures, was sleeping soundly in his cradle - a living, breathing testament of Scarlett and Butler's passion - not easily overlooked. And how easy for Scarlett, having the baby to love, to agree to marry him out of loneliness, hurt, and apathy.

And his son thought him a coward. A man desperate enough to destroy a family he was no longer part of; an opportunist waiting for the best possible advantage.

Holding his son's gaze, he walked over to the boy, who was the same height as him, with the same eyes, the same shape of the nose and mouth…He looked into his son's eyes and grasped his thin shoulders. "I don't need to exorcise Butler from her mind and heart to attempt to define myself as a man. What has transpired between he and your mother have nothing whatsoever to do with the man, the husband, and the father that I intend to become. Do you understand me?"

He turned away, moving back toward the bed and leaving Wade standing there, shaken. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Wade's mouth opened and in a tiny voice, the word came out, "F-father?"

Turning quickly, he looked at the boy's face and saw the tears that were running down the sides.

"All my life, all I ever wanted was t-to b-b-be like y-you…"

"And all I ever wanted was to find my way home to you," Charles swallowed, briefly closing his own eyes as the boy threw himself at him, wrapping his arms around him. "You and your mother. The beautiful girl who I had fallen in love with and married in a heat of passion and excitement over the war. I wanted to prove myself as a soldier, as a man, wishing every moment of my miserable imprisonment that I might find her again, reclaim her love…"

Wade nodded his head as it was pressed against Charles's shoulder, feeling the anger that had burdened him his entire life disappear. And he pitied the innocent young man that Charles had been then, who had married for love, only to remain unloved for most of his life.

Chin quivering, Wade whispered, "You have to promise that you won't leave her."

Breathless, Charles nodded. "Never…son."

_**The next day**_

It was closer to noon than Rhett would have preferred when he rode into Jonesboro. He glanced compulsively at the announcement in the paper, knowing instinctively the road to Tara but being held up by storm damage at every turn. This road was flooded, that overpass was unsafe…Boyce Allard rode at his side, and did everything in his power to reason with the older man, saying that he would be of no use to Scarlett or anyone if they had to fish his dead body out of the swollen creek.

Finally, they made the turn to Tara, and Rhett urged the horse to keep on a heavy gallop down the long avenue. Without taking a good look at the whitewashed brick structure, Rhett's first impression was that the property looked in desperate need of repair. The roof needed some work, the fence was completely falling over in places, and the barn looked likely to cave in at any moment. But as he strode up the porch steps, he noted the beauty of the springtime, and had to admit that the former plantation still boasted something of grace and charm; it was, just as Scarlett herself, gritty and tough, having endured the horrors of war, but still clung to its beauty diligently…

Hearing no response from the house, he began to beat frantically upon the door, nearly falling down into a woman's startled arms the minute she opened it - he sidestepped around her and entered, demanding, "Where is Scarlett, Suellen?"

"Just what do you think you're doing-"

"Damn it, woman! Is she here or not? Where is she? Is she with Charles?"

There came a sound from the parlor, and Rhett turned quickly. She was standing there, her dark hair framing her cheeks, her emerald eyes fixing him, searing his very soul. She was dressed in orchid silk, with a wreath of flowers crowing her glorious black locks - she was simply stunning in her radiant beauty. Christ, she was going to go through with marrying him - he had only just made it-

Her body was trembling, a war raging inside of her as she desperately tried to contain her emotions.

"We need to talk," she said softly, her voice coming out deadly calm.

"Scarlett!" Suellen cried, "People are _coming _in the hour!"

She nodded. "It won't take long. We'll be in the parlor."

He followed her as she crossed over the threshold and shut the door behind him, ready to wage the greatest battle he had yet embarked upon - one to regain her love.


	23. Fairytale Come True

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction; all characters belong to the late, great Margaret Mitchell and her heirs.

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><p>I can't believe it's been so many months since I first started this little project - to all the readers who submitted encouragement and constructive criticism, as always, <strong>thank you<strong> from the bottom of my heart! I hope that you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

* * *

><p>Scarlett kept to the back wall of the parlor, keeping her eye fixed upon the baby, who was rocking back on his hands and knees, perfectly amused with himself and his newly learned skill.<p>

Although she was infuriated by Rhett's sudden presence, the words stuck in her throat after one look at her boy. It was just as well, she supposed - it was better that Rhett not know that he still held such sway over her emotions. He stared at her, not noticing the baby in the corner, as his blanket was intentionally positioned behind her large oak desk.

"So you came," she said, surprisingly calmly, "…surely it's not a coincidence that you've come today."

"You should know me better than to think that I'd leave such things to chance, Scarlett."

"No, you wouldn't, would you? Well, what is it, Rhett? Since you saw fit to return now-"

"I love you."

A sick, dizzy feeling threatened to overcome her, and she sat down on the chair to avoid collapsing at his feet. Images of him, vivid fantasies, real and imagined - all the same - pushing at her and threatening to pull her down, tear away at her resolve. Perhaps if she could just close her eyes, he would disappear like any other fantasy of her mind…

"Did you hear me, Scarlett?"

"You do not."

"Not what?"

"Love me. And I don't love you."

"Why do you…" His voice lowered, then turned slightly sharp, "Why is it so impossible for you to believe that -" He stared hard at her, and saw that his words were having no effect. She avoiding looking him in the eyes, and was looking madly from side to side, resting her eyes on the corner, away from him.

"What is wrong with you, Scarlett? I've not seen you in nearly a year. A whole damned year! And you act as though you could care less." It was like a dagger thrust to the heart; although rage was spilling out in the place of blood.

"Very well, Scarlett, let us change the subject. How is Charles?" he inquired icily.

"He is fine."

"Fine, is he? _Fine?_"

"There is no need for you to shout!" she glared up at him. "Did I raise my voice, whatsoever? No, I did not. Although I have every reason to do so. You used me, Rhett. You used me to hide from your brother. You never went anywhere but to your cousin's in the Caribbean. Ashley told me everything, that your - your _son_ - told him. You were with India all along. With _India_! Saving your own skin in case your brother came looking for you."

"Where did you hear that?" he growled dangerously. "Goddamned Ashley. It is true that I was at Kin's, but that was the excuse I needed for not coming back for you in time - for not getting you out of Charleston safely. Do you think that I would have stayed away from you for all this time for any other reason? What fault can you find with that rationale, Scarlett?"

"None, if any of it were true. But I don't believe a word of it. If you had wanted to find us, you would have. You're only here because Ashley let slip that I was marrying Charles and you were jealous - although why you should be, I am quite sure I don't know."

"You -"

"I'm not finished. And then there's the matter of your son. Ashley told me all about him. How he looks so very like you that it was as if you spat him out yourself. I wonder that you never told me about him, for all your talk of _my _dishonesty when we were married, all your talk of _trust_. Well you always knew where my heart rested, even when it wasn't with you - before I knew that I loved you, and after I did, I ran home to tell you and you just…shot me down. And then, I tried for two years to make myself…more appealing for you, more like Melly, more like my Mother. And _then_, after Charles's return, you mysteriously want me back - well, for your knowledge, Captain Butler, if you were interested, I don't need you back. You've returned for nothing, Rhett. You see, it somehow has gotten around the County that I have lost my third husband and am marrying my fourth -"

"A widow?" Rhett flared his nostrils in disbelief, "You let them think that you were a widow? That I was _dead_?"

"Why shouldn't they have thought it? Why shouldn't I have, for that matter? But I didn't encourage them, not that it matters now. The point is, my reputation is firmly intact. They won't think any less of me for marrying Charles, and there will be no stigma on him for his own…return from the dead."

"Is that really what you think? That he…wait…this was his idea, wasn't it? This was all out of his mouth because he's…he's not really who he says he is."

"What are you talking about?"

"Boyce - the young man Ashley met and as usual, came to the wrong conclusion about - Boyce is the son of my brother and the lady you know as Belle Watling."

"Your brother?" she gasped, holding her hand to her mouth.

"Yes. I was his guardian until he was grown and now he is a good deal more clever than I- and he's been following Charles since the first sighting of him. And he's not Charles Hamilton, Scarlett. Not the one you married, anyway. Not Melly's brother."

"You don't know that - you can't-"

"Is that what you think, Scarlett? Really? I had people looking for you, everywhere! I had roads watched, I had Ashley followed, even our goddamned servants bribed! You think that I would have bothered scouring the whole goddamned country for you if I didn't care - Scarlett, even if he is the real Charles, it would not change the fact that I - I care. That I love you, Scarlett."

"You…Why did you leave me?"

"I looked everywhere, Scarlett. I couldn't find you anywhere in Charleston or Atlanta or anywhere - and I had to assume that Charles had either gotten you out of the country, or the alternative, that you were…"

Scarlett shivered as she realized his implication, that he had thought her dead, the baby too.

"Did your brother give you that idea?" she asked in a small voice.

"He didn't have much to say on the subject after his arrest."

"Arrest…so he's -"

"Still living, yes. Which is more the pity. But once he realized that his plan to get rid of me had been good and foiled, he agreed to speak with Boyce-"

"What do you mean, get rid of you?"

"Ah, the tone of concern out of you, thank you for that. You'll understand, of course, if I find it difficult to believe-"

"Rhett! What did he do?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "He depleted my bank accounts in Atlanta and abroad, keeping me quiet about Charles, before I was able to find out the truth. That's why I was so delayed in returning home the first time, Scarlett. I was ready to come back two weeks after I left. I wanted to come back. I wanted to…to try and love you again."

"Rhett-"

"But I realized something, Scarlett. I realized that I had never stopped."

Suddenly, a loud cry from the corner of the room interrupted the silence between them, and Rhett could hear Scarlett groan as she bent down to soothe the source of the noise. He turned sharply, fixing his eyes on the gurgling baby on the floor with paralyzing intensity. Then, he bent down on the floor next to the infant, who stared back at him, fascinated by the new person in the room.

"I'm sorry, Rhett," Scarlett said softly. "I was going to tell you. I wanted to much to tell you. But you were gone and I thought…I thought you didn't care…I certainly wasn't hiding from you. After several months had passed and you hadn't found us, I went to Atlanta often. I even passed by our house. It hasn't sold, you know…but I suppose you had already passed through-"

"Looking for you," he reminded her.

"I realize that now, but at the time, I gave up. I suppose that I thought it was best if I stopped looking…so I came home, thinking that you would find me if you wanted to…" she paused as she watched the baby coo as his father stared at him, taking in every detail.

"He is - he is the most perfect boy ever born."

"I know. And you have the right to know about him. I'm not about to deny you that."

"Scarlett - you can't mean..?"

"I made a promise, Rhett. A promise to Charles. And I'm going to see it through, because it's what Melly would have wanted. I've strayed from duty all my life. I've done whatever I pleased when I wanted, and its only because I met you that I learned what it to love, unabashedly, unashamedly…but there is something greater than that, Rhett. There is something more important than a lover's caress -"

"What is that, honor?" he said mockingly.

"Yes, in a way. But more a type of love. A different sort, though, than what I had with you. You once told me that you would love me more than any man loved any woman…well…if you still love me, you can show me just how much. Let it lie, Rhett."

"No."

"No?"

"No," he said with finality, drawing closer to her, "You will not marry him - him or anyone else, ever. Do you understand me, Scarlett? It's not that easy, turning me out - giving yourself airs of having scruples and honor! Over an imposter, Scarlett! Or did you not hear me?"

"I heard what you said. But I know Charles Hamilton. And this is him. The man I married."

"How can you be sure?"

"I know."

"Give me one shred of evidence."

"I know in my heart, Rhett. Because I asked Melly for a sign and its-"

"A sign? A sign from Miss Melly. You'd be better off throwing darts into the sky and hoping to hell they don't come back to hit you in the face - who's to say that _that_," he indicated the baby, "isn't your _sign_ from above?"

"Rhett, please. Please, go."

He turned away, gazing at the window murderously.

"Goodbye, Rhett," she said, then scooped up the baby and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

Rhett fell against the door and struggled for breath, searching in vain for something to sink his fist into, and locating only a crystal decanter, which he proceeded to hurl against the wall, delighting in the shattering noise it produced. He laughed hollowly, realizing that the situation was identical to one which he had been witness to long ago, in the Twelve Oaks library. Boyce burst in, and stared at him with worried eyes. His gaze flashed around the small parlor and at all the broken glass.

"What the hell happened in here?"

"She's going to marry him."

"Well, you have to stop her-"

"I can't."

There came a sound, and both men quickly turned.

A child stood on the door's threshold, her copper colored curls framing cherubic cheeks, her eyes a reflection of her mother's.

Rhett moved toward her, slowly.

"Uncle Rhett? Uncle Rhett, it's really you?"

"It's me, Ella," he whispered, shaking.

"Mother's going to marry him, Uncle Rhett - you have to do something, quick!"

Her sparkling eyes looked up at him, pleading. "You still love her, don't you? You still love her?"

He could feel his heart turning over in his chest as he nodded. "Yes, Ella. I still do."

She smiled weakly. "Then tell her."

Then she was gone, heading out the front door - Boyce indicated that Rhett should follow him down the avenue and toward the arbor in the orchard. It was in full bloom, and there was a small crowd of guests already assembled in their Sunday best. He spied Ashley Wilkes in the very front, his brown suit rendering him unremarkable to say the least - Will Benteen was next to him, then Scarlett's sad-faced sister, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers - Mammy, holding his perfect boy in her strong black arms - Scarlett herself, Wade at her arm, walking towards Charles Hamilton. He was losing her.

The somber words of the white-robed priest could be heard from where Rhett was standing, a good twenty yards away.

If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that Scarlett met his eyes at least once…

Nearly running, he shoved his way through the crowd to the front, just as the priest was uttering the words: "Should anyone know of any reason why these two people should not be married, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace-"

"I do-" Rhett said loudly, feeling the words catch in his throat. "I do!"

Scarlett turned, her emerald eyes locking with his black ones.

"Don't…Scarlett. Charles…I'm begging you."

Charles Hamilton groaned and covered his face with his hands. Stumbling backwards, he knelt to the ground, his mouth twisted in anguish. He stood up then, and Rhett thought that he would go to Scarlett, but it was Wade he sought out. He grabbed the boy by the arm, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"I have to let her go," he said, his voice ragged.

Wade nodded then, his own stunned gaze falling upon Rhett, and then on his mother, who was visibly trembling. Charles whispered something in her ear, then kissed her gently on the cheek before addressing Rhett, "Take care of her, please. She deserves the world."

Tears rose in her eyes as the flowers in her hand spilled to the ground and she ran towards him.

He picked her up easily in his arms, swinging her around once before he laid claim to her lips, all the aching loneliness of so many months manifesting itself in the way in which he kissed her.

"There will be no escaping me this time, Scarlett O'Hara."

"Is that a promise, Captain Butler?"

"Always. Always, my love…"

**. . . .**

**_Seven Years Later_**

"Wade Hampton Hamilton, you needn't put yourself through this, you know."

The young man glanced up at his stepfather, who sat upon his horse looking splendid in his immaculate white linen suit. Around the pair of them came the sounds of the sharecropping farmers who worked the hundred cotton acres around Tara - they picked by hand, the five men and twelve boys, black and white - doing the work that over fifty field negroes had done in the days of Gerald O'Hara. When Will Benteen had died the previous summer, the County folk had scoffed at the idea of a green boy, newly married to a girl from the city, taking up the reins of one of the bigger places in the County on his own, even with the financial backing of his wealthy mother and stepfather. But Wade Hampton Hamilton was bound and determined to make the plantation as fine as it once was, even without the benefit of slave labor, and he was well on his way - folks were fond of saying that the young man had the spirit of his grandfather in him, and was going to do that very thing, come hell or high water.

"Why don't you make yourself useful, get off that damned horse and start picking? This place is partly yours, you know, in a manner of speaking."

"This is _all_ yours," Rhett smarted back. "All your doing."

"Wade!" came a cry, and he turned immediately to see a figure reining his mount to a stop at the edge of the field. "It's time, Wade. Dimity says that it won't be long now."

Wade mounted his own waiting horse, and he and Rhett followed the other man toward the white brick house as though they were fleeing grim Death.

Ella was at the door, a mischievous look on her pretty face. "Mother just came down. She says that everything is as it should be. There's no need to panic, Wade Hampton. Thanks for getting him, Uncle Charlie."

Wade tried to move past his sister but she shook a finger at him. "You'll wait. Just like Uncle Rhett had to wait, you will too."

He turned to Rhett, and then the man standing next to him. "Would either of you two gentlemen like to intervene on my behalf?"

Rhett shook his head. "I find that it's easier just to leave well enough alone. Let's get a drink, shall we?"

"Daddy!"

Rhett Charles Butler dashed from the office, followed by Emelia Martin, who was visiting for the summer, and the little three year old Butler twins Lucy and Samuel were toddling behind them, skidding to a stop behind the older two children. Rhett fell to his knees to greet the children properly, then laughed as little Samuel questioned Wade, "Wade sad?"

Wade shook his head, "Just a little nervous, Sam."

"Why? Lots of people have babies," Emelia informed them.

Rhett Charles elbowed his cousin, who topped him in height by an inch or so for the time being, "But it's Wade and Mary's first one."

Emelia wrinkled her nose in displeasure at being corrected, and all of the adults thought the same thing: she looks like her mother when she does that!

They heard a cry come from the upstairs bedroom, then a harried sounding yell for Ella to bring more towels, which caused all the color to disappear from Wade's face.

"It's going to be alright, Wade," Rhett moved to reassure him, then glanced at the other man to his left. "Isn't that right, Charles?"

Charles grinned, "It is. And Dimity and Scarlett are taking fine care of her-"

"Daddy," Lucy pulled on Rhett's sleeve, "Daddy, story please?"

"Please?" Samuel echoed, and then Rhett Charles and Emelia looked enthusiastic by the prospect as well.

"What would you like to hear?" Rhett grinned down at them, unable to resist the whims of children in general, particularly his.

"A fairy tale, no doubt," Emelia said primly. "But Aunt Scarlett has read them all to us. Cinderella, Snow White, The Adventures of Alice-"

"What about a true one," Wade interrupted her, smiling wryly, "…one about a man who went off to war and was never heard from again…and then his poor wife was left at the mercy of a pirate."

"A pirate?" Emelia raised an eyebrow, "I thought you said it was a true story."

Rhett, Charles, and Wade exchanged grins.

"It is a true story," Charles reassured her. "See, the man who was lost found his way back, eventually - and he found his way home."

"What about the pirate?" Rhett Charles tried to go back to the more interesting part of the story. "Did he take prisoners?"

"He certainly did," came the soft voice from the staircase. "Because he was a terribly wicked pirate."

"Of course he is," Rhett agreed with his wife, eagerly, then paused to hear whatever news she had brought.

"You can go up now, Wade, honey," she said, unable to contain her wide grin. "You have a daughter, and Mary is just fine. More than fine. Dimity said it was downright shameful how fine she is, although I told her that I was the same way…" Wade didn't bother to listen to the rest of his mother's words, brushing past her after receiving pats on the back from Rhett and Charles respectively and charging up the stairs to his wife.

"What are they going to name her, Aunt Scarlett?" Emelia inquired.

"I'm not sure, but last I checked, Melanie was at the top of the list," Scarlett replied, then gave Charles a quick hug. "Dimity says that you're very lucky to have married her, as she's the best midwife in the County, if not the state -"

Charles grinned. "I know how lucky I am…and how proud…"

"Daddy, story!" Lucy piped up again, and Rhett scooped her up and placed a big kiss on her cheek.

"Ask Uncle Charlie if he can oblige you, sweetheart, since he's the inspiration behind this particular tale."

"Really, Uncle Charlie?" Rhett Charles looked wide-eyed at his soft spoken uncle, who wasn't really his uncle but who everyone called uncle except for his brother Wade who called him Father, but only in private…he had asked his mother why once, since Uncle Charlie went by Mr. Burr in public, not Mr. Hamilton, like Wade, and she had just kissed him on the cheek and told him that it was a silly question, that Wade loved Uncle Charlie like a father just like he loved his Daddy. And Rhett Charles had been satisfied with that answer, since he loved Uncle Charlie and his wife, Miss Dimity, too. They lived down the road and were always kind to him and gave him sweets whenever he came to visit…but even so, he thought that Uncle Charlie was hardly the type to sail the high seas.

Charles winked at the boy and gently steered the group of children back into the parlor. "Well, I suppose that it all started when I was a young soldier, and my camp was attacked by Yankees…"

After they were safely occupied in the other room, Rhett put his arm around Scarlett's waist, the look in his eyes confirming his certain plans…

"Rhett Butler! You can't just expect to …you know…"

"Why not, Mrs. Butler? After all, everyone will be so distracted…who would be the wiser?"

"You are terribly wicked, Rhett."

"Yes," he agreed, taking her in his arms and pulling her body close to him. "As are you. Which is why I love you so very much. And I will, you know. Love you forever…"

"Well I declare, Captain Butler, you must have something up your sleeve -" Scarlett smiled up at him and batted her eyelashes coyly.

"I warned you about flirting with me - that I wasn't one of your plantation beaux…"

"I knew that much, even then."

"I bet you did…more than you let on."

"Rhett, you do- oh Rhett!"

He silenced her with a kiss. "I'm going to carry you up these stairs right now if you do that again."

She glanced up at him…and did it again.

"Fine. You asked for it." He scooped her up easily as a rag doll, and started up the stairs.

"You know that girl in your story," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "…that fairy tale came true for her."

"Even if she ended up with the pirate rather than the handsome prince?"

"Oh _that _pirate…yes…she has always loved him. And she always will."


End file.
